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“Father Jasper,” cried Claus, opeoiDg his eyes, “oh, I have waited 
for you so long 1 I was afraid Our Lord would be lonely.”- Page 232. 


How They Worked Their Way 


AND OTHER TALES. 


{STORIES OF DUTY.) 


B\ MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LLD., 

u 

Author of "'The Life Around C/s '' "The Theatre 
ana Christian Parents/' etc. 


j^oy 25 5892 ) 

X ' 

NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO; 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Pi inters to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1892. 

1 - 


OLe - 3.%S 1 


^ *V^ 


i 


Copyright, 1892 , by Benziger Brothers. 


THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO 


‘‘LEE” AND MARIA, 

TWO VERY LITTLE GIRLS, WITH THE HOPE 
THAT THEY MAY LIVE TO READ 


AND LIKE IT, 

























A LITTLE CHAT. 


The author of this book had been asked over and over 
again to write a book of stories for some of his little friends. 
He had told them stories over and over again, and even 
translated several from the French for them; but they 
were not content. They wanted more. 

They wanted a book which they could have for “their 
own,” — to read when they liked. And they wanted a 
book about American children; and Helen said — Helen is 
ten years of age— she wanted a book in which there should 
be something about Catholic children, “like ourselves.” 

John, who is four years older than his sister, asked that 
the book might be full of real people, not about people who 
were so good that they were always preaching. And he 
wanted boys like himself in it, — boys who liked to have 
fun, and who were “ on the altar,” and who lived in ordi- 
nary houses, like most of the boys he knew. He did not 
want to read of princes, and counts, and little peasants; 
he would like to meet some Catholic American children in 
a book. Then Helen said that JSt. Nicholas and Wide 
Awake were lovely, but one never read anything about 
children who made their First Communion, or gathered 
flowers for the Blessed Virgin, or walked in the procession 
on Corpus Christi. Bhe would like to read about the 
children she knew. 

“You know,” Helen said, “that Catholics have so 
many ideas and practices different from other people; but 
we seldom read about children who understand them, ex- 
cept in the French books. And I am sure good French 
children are nice enough; but I get tired of them in stories. 
I want to read about American children.” 

This “want” was repeated over and over to me by five 
children out of the six who were sitting with me near the 
drive in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, one Corpus Christi day. 
The sixth— one of the very little girls to whom this book is 

5 


6 


A LITTLE CHAT. 


dedicated— said, when she was asked what kind of stories 
she liked, that she wanted stories about “ bad children,” 
and expressed a decided preference for ‘ ‘ Hop o’ my 
Thumb.” She was promptly ruled out of the conference 
when it was found that she liked “ Hop o’ my Thumb,” be- 
cause so many children had their heads cut off ! 

The oldest of all the children. Will, whose long sickness 
had helped to make him the most thoughtful, hoped that 
some lessons of the Catechism would be explained in the 
proposed book. The others exclaimed against this, insist- 
ing that the Catechism was too “ dry” to put into a story 
without spoiling it. The author, however, adopted Will’s 
suggestion in “ Working their Way.” 

The exquisite day in June wore on in the Park; but before 
the drive became dim in the twilight, the author had be- 
gun to tell “ The Boys in the Block ” to the little group. 
It pleased the boys, but the girls were not content, because 
more was not said about Hina, to whom they took a lik- 
ing. Little Maria grew tired of asking about the ‘"papas” 
and “mammas” of the various characters, and went to 
sleep. The story was voted good enough to be put into the 
book. On many Sunday afternoons the stories were con- 
tinued in the Park, until the author began to feel like the 
princess in the “Arabian Nights.” At last they were all 
told and ready to be put between covers. At a last meet- 
ing the children suggested names for the book. Helen 
wanted something sweet, like “A Bunch of Wild Flowers;” 
John proposed “ Through Flood and Fire; ” and Maria, for 
some strange reason, insisted that her book should be 
called “Nellie;” but these suggestions were disregarded 
when Will said that the title ought to be “Stories of 
Duty,” because the necessity of doing God’s will and having 
a sense of it in our daily life seemed to be the motive of 
the book. 

If any of you of the larger group who read these stories 
can think of a better title, the author of them will be glad 
to hear it. 


Maurice Francis Egan. 


CONTENTS. 


How THEY Worked their Way, 

• 

• 

PAGE 

9 

The Boys in the Block, 

• 


. 113 

The House that John Built, 

• 

• 

. 167 

A Child of the Floods, 

• 

• 

. 185 

Mr. Kalbfleisch, . . . • 

• 

• 

. 201 

A Guard of Honor, • • 

• 

• 

. 226 

The Dumb Singer, . • * • 

• 


. 233 

The Perfume of the Cuban Lotus, 

• 

6 

. 242 


















HOW THEY WOEKED THEIR WAY. 


L 


/ \HE main question with the family was, 
Where shall we send the boys to school ? ” 
-- The family consisted of six Beresfords — 
Dermot, Brian, Mary, and Kathleen; the father 
and mother completed the family. The children 
looked upon the father and mother as the best and 
greatest people in the world. The boys were sure 
that what their father could not do was not worth 
doing, and the girls clustered around their moUier 
like buds around a rose, or bees around a bed of 
pansies. 

It was a pleasant picture when the family 
gathered at the breakfast-table in the morning. 
The sunlii^ht streamed throuo;h the dinino:-room 


windows on the group at the round table, and 
flashed on the snowy cloth and bright silver. 
It was Mary’s business to see that the table 
looked nice, and it was rarely, indeed, that she 
did not contrive to have a bunch of flowers in the 
centre, and one or two beside her mother’s plate. 

In summer their city yard ” — it was liter- 
ally not much more than three feet square — gave 
her daisies and pansies and a sprig of larkspur. 


10 


STORIES OF DUTY, 


In the autumn some chrysanthemums, and in the 
winter, geraniums, which were tenderly cherish- 
ed in* the bay-window of the sitting-room. Al- 
ways, however, the best flowers of the season 
were set at the feet of the statue of the Blessed 
Virgin, in an alcove of their sitting-room. 

It is needless to describe the character of the 
young Beresfords. They had some of the faults 
and some of the virtues usually ascribed to 
American children. In the course of their story, 
you will become acquainted with their faults and 
their virtues. 

Mary was just fifteen years of age; Brian 
and Bermot, the twins, were one year younger ; 
Kathleen w^as twelve. 

Mr. Beresford sat at the breakfast table on a 
certain morning in spring, and looked at the 
bright faces on either side of him. Mr. Beres- 
ford’s hair had begun to turn gray of late, and 
w^hen the sunlight fell on his face, Mary so lov- 
ingly observant, noticed that the wrinkles near 
his eyes made a net-work of fine lines. He look- 
ed a little anxiously at his wife, said grace, com- 
plimented Mary on the bunch of wisteria on the 
table, and then said — 

“ I have news for you, children.^’ 

“ Good news ? ’’ said the twins. 

‘‘I donT know,” said Mr. Beresford. “Mary 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


11 


will probably consider it good news, but I cannot 
say what you boys will think of it.” 

‘^You have found a school for us!” cried 
Dermot, looking up anxiously. ‘‘ I knew it must 
come some day. I wish we could stay here in 
Philadelphia and go to school ” 

Mrs. Beresford smiled sadly. 

Ah, dear boys,” she said, the going to a 
good school ought to make you glad. It is all 
very well for you to begin to have forebodings 
when there is talk of sending you away. But I 
think you would be gloomy in earnest, if you 
were told that father could not afford to send you 
to college at all. In fact, that you must turn in 
and work for your living at once.” Mrs. Beres- 
ford’s blue eyes filled with tears and her voice 
trembled a little. 

Brian and Dermot dropped their spoons in 
surprise. Mary involuntarily said — 

‘‘ I hope not ! ” and then blushed, for she 
had been taught not to give an opinion in the 
presence of her parents, when her opinion was 
not asked by them. 

‘‘Yes, boys,^’ said Mr. Beresford, “your 
mother has hinted the truth. My business vent- 
ures in the West have gone wrong. The Stalacta 
Mine, in which all my earnings were invested, is 
a failure. Doctor Jarvis says that I shall die un- 


12 


STORIES OP DUTY. 


less I get into the country as soon as possible. 
When I sell this house I may have money enough 
to buy a farm. I hoped, as you know, to send you 
to a good school for several years ; but I cannot 

do it now. Well, well how do you like the 

prospects of farming ? ” 

Dermot said nothing, he hung his head, and 
if he had been a smaller boy, a tear would have 
dropped into his oatmeal porridge. He had 
counted on going to school. Will Allen, from 
Georgetown College, had been telling him of the 
good times there, and he had been reading Mr. 
Hughes’ delightful Tom Brown at Rugby.” 
It was a great disappointment ; he liked the city 
and he had never been in the country. He had 
caught glimpses of hot-looking men reaping or 
digging in sunny fields, and he had wondered 
how they could do it. But his observations of 
country life had all been made through the car 
windows when he was on his way to Long Branch. 
Besides, he had the antipathy to manual labor 
common in the American boy of his type. He 
had never done anything harder than tossing a 
ball in his life, and he felt his heart sink when 
his father talked of farm work. 

Brian, on the contrary, was much relieved. 
He cared very little for the straight streets and 
the city sights. The bicycle, in which Dermot 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


13 


delighted, had no charms for him. He wanted a 
horse. He cared nothing for a decorous ride 
through Fairmount Park, clothed in a tight shirt 
and knickerbockers. He read with pleasure of 
the wild flight of mustangs across Texan plains. 
He often said to himself that it was a shame for 
his father to be growing gray-haired over old law 
books and briefs in an office, while Dermot and he 
studied and played. His white hands fllled him 
with disgust. He said he wanted to work. 
Mary’s eyes brightened. 

And I can really help mother ! Oh, dear ! 
I think farming will be nice ! ” 

Mrs. Beresford shook her head. 

‘‘We shall be very poor.” 

“ Why mother ,” said Mary, “ haven’t you 
told us often that if we were contented and good, 
poverty made no difference ? We shall be all to- 
gether. Isn’t that enough ? ” 

“ But the poor boys’ prospects ! ” 

Ah, my dear,” said Mr. Beresford, “you 
forget that a farmer may fulfill all the duties of 
this life and gain Heaven quite as well as if he 
were a lawyer or a doctor. And I think if either 
Dermot or Brian have a vocation for the priest- 
hood, neither your nor my example or words will 
stifle it.” 

Mrs. Beresford smiled. 


14 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ You are right, James.” 

‘‘We can be just as near to God in the coun- 
try as we are here, can’t we, papa ? ” asked little 
Kathleen. “ My Catechism does not say that we 
must live in the city. And I can say the whole 
first chapter by heart. Listen : ‘ God made me 
that I might know Him, love Him, and serve 
Him in this world, and be happy with Him for- 
ever in the next.’ See ! ” cried Kathleen, tri- 
umphantly. 

“ Kathleen has solved the problem for you, 
my dear,” said Mr. Beresford, with a grave smile. 

What we want is to serve the God who made 
us, here, with our whole hearts every day, and 
having done that, what matters the rest ? It is 
a great sacrifice, for you all, to leave this fine 
house and the lively city ; but I must ask it of 
you. It is my duty to save my life and health 
until these chicks of ours are able to take care of 
themselves. I think you will all help me.” 

Dermot went to his father and put his arms 
around his neck. 

“Dear father,” he said, with tears in his 
eyes, “ I will do anything for your sake.” 

“ For God’s first, Dermot. Come now let us 
be cheerful and talk over our plans.” 

After this, they tried to be cheerful. But 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


15 


the announcement had been so sudden, that all, 
except Brian and Kathleen, were occupied with 
sad thoughts. 


II. 

Mary went upstairs after breakfast and drew 
from a wardrobe a pretty white gown. It was 
soft, and, here and there, among its folds lay bril- 
liant silver lace. She looked at it quite sadly. 
It had been given to her on her birthday. She 
had never yet worn it, and her father had prom- 
ised to let her invite as many of her friends as 
she choose, in honor of his birthday, which would 
be late in May. But now that was all over. She 
could not remind her father of his promise. She 
knew that her mother was thinking of this dis- 
appointment, too, at the breakfast table. 

Mothers suffer for all their children when 
times of trial come. Mrs. Beresford had felt 
Dermot’s disappointment as keenly as she had 
Mary’s. And she had felt it all the more keenly 
as Mary had tried so bravely to conceal it. 

The sunlight shown on this pretty gown, 
and made the silver lace glisten like the reflec- 
tions of light on a rippling stream. Mary sighed. 

Alice Howe had given a party ; Agnes Rich- 


16 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


ards had given a luncheon to all her youno- 
friends, and Mildred Ellis had had a delightful 
musicale, with singing hy all her class in school, 
and a man to play the zither. The girls would 
think it strange, if she did not give them some 
chance of having a little fun before she went in- 
to the country. The tears came into her eyes. 
She felt tempted to ask her father ; he would un- 
derstand and let her have a feast on his birthday. 
She knew he would. But then he was so wor- 
ried about other things. And then the expense ! 
She heard his step sounding in his study. She 
would just run in and ask him. It would be so 
nice to wear that pretty frock. He always liked 
to see her look well. She made a movement to- 
wards the door. 

"Was she selfish? she asked herself. She 
looked at the Madonna and the Child that stood 
on a velvet-covered pedestal in one corner of her 
room. Sister Hortense and her dear mother had 
often told her that, in times of difficulty, she 
ought to say a Hail Mary, and to try to model her 
conduct to that of the Blessed Virgin. 

She thought of her father’s bowed head and 
the net-work of wrinkles around his eyes. She 
said her Hail Mary. Then, with a sigh, she put 
the soft gown back into its box and cried a little. 

She had just wiped her eyes when a flutter 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


17 


was heard on the stairs. Then a cheerful voice 
broke out, addressed to the house-maid — 

‘‘ Never mind me, Delia ; don’t trouble your- 
self to show me her room. I know it. Here it 
is ! ” 

A knock, very sharp and prolonged, startled 
Mary. She opened the door and a girl about her 
own age came in and kissed her violently. It 
was Alice Howe. Alice moved with as much 
vivacity as she could, considering that her dress 
was very tight, and that she had a little dog, 
which she led by a string, and which was trying 
to run away in various directions. Alice rum- 
pled up her light, puffy ‘‘bang” before the mir- 
ror and then threw herself into a chair, while the 
curly dog snuffed around the room. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” she said, in an affected imita- 
tion of what she thought to be an English tone of 
voice, ‘Tm quite too awfully tired. You really 
ought to have an elevator — you really ought — in 
this big house. I’ve just run in to ask you to 
my luncheon, on the 28th.” 

“ It will be quite too lovely. Mamma has ordered 
covers for twenty girls, and papa has promised 
me that the flowers shall be something superb. 
You must come, and wear your new frock.” 

Alice, a pleasant-looking girl, with wide-open 
blue eyes and yellow hair, was, unfortunately. 


18 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


spoiled by affectation. She had all the airs and 
graces of a veteran woman of society. Her par- 
ents were too busy with other and less important 
matters to give her much attention. 

Mary’s manner was very simple, and child- 
ish, compared with the airs of Alice; hut Mary 
could look one directly in the face, with a clear 
and honest gaze, while Alice’s eyes, or her mouth, 
constantly showed the workings of self-conscious- 
ness, whenever she spoke to anybody. 

“ You are very kind, Alice,” Mary answered, 
“ but I think we will he out of town hy the 28th.” 

“ So soon ! When are you going ? It’s just 
the time for Atlantic City, before the crush 
begins ” 

“ Ho, no,” said Mary, hastily, “ we are not 
going away for pleasure. Poor father is not well, 
and we are going into the country to live.” 

“ Hot for good ! ” cried Alice, opening her 
eyes with the approved “ society ” stare of the 
season. 

“Yes.” 

“ You can’t mean it. What— are you to give 
up the riding club, and school, and the party 
you promised us. You certainly are crazy, Mary.” 

“ The truth is,” said Mary, with an effort 
and a slight blush, “ we’re too poor to live here.” 

Alice leaned back in her chair and laughed. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


19 


This is quite too awfully funny ! Fancy ’’ 

' — she said “ fawncy ’’ — living in a house like 
this, Avith Mexican onyx mantel-pieces, and real 
lace curtains, and Turkish rugs, and talking that 
way ! Papa often does the same thing, whenever 
I want him to buy me anything particularly 
smart. But mamma and I don’t mind it ! Poor ! 
the idea ! It’s just your papa’s talk ! ” 

No,” said Mary, gravely, father always 
means what he says. We shall all have to work 
hard on a farm somewhere.’^ 

What ! ” cried Alice, you don^t mean it ! 
Oh, this is quite too dreadfully, awfully, horrible ! 
you churn, and milk the cows, and feed the pigs, 
and gather potatoes ! Oh, my dear, your father 
can’t be so awfully cruel ! And you’ll have no 
chance of wearing your new frock on a farm ! 
Come, now, you do not mean it ? The idea of 
your being poor, like the awful people I saw this 
morning ! ” 

“ Father said, this morning, that we must go 
away, and live very carefully,” Mary answered, 
with an effort. I suppose if one is poor, one 
may be good, and contented, and nice, if one 
tries.” 

‘‘ Impossible ! ” Alice said, running her fin- 
gers through her ‘‘bang,” to show a diamond 
ring she wore. “Poor people never can be nice. 


20 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Just to think, of living in a little, poky liouse, 
with no servants, and having always to ride in a 
street car. Poor people are always nasty.” 

“ Our Lord was poor. Sister Hortense told 
us, over and over again, to remember that. And 
the Blessed Virgin was poor.” 

Alice was silent for an instant. 

“ Oh, that was a long time ago. Don’t preach, 
Mary, please. Just think of it-this morning 
almost before I was up, mother came and asked 
me, if I had a white frock I didn’t want. I was 
quite paralyzed by the question, for mamma 
knows, very well, that I want everything I have. 
It seems that a poor women, who lives back of 
our house, in the court, you know, had the impu- 
dence to ask mamma for a frock, so that her 
daughter could make her First Communion in 
white, like the other girls. To be fair, she only 
wanted to borrow one, and, having heard that I 
went to the convent to school, she thought 
ma might lend her one of mine ! Fancy ! e 
said it would be a great favor, as she could not af- 
ford to buy a white frock. Did you ever hear of 

such a thing ! I was real mad, 

Mary was silent. A slight color came to her 

fclC0 

“ You aggravating thing,” continued Alice, 
“ you don’t give a girl a bit of sympathy. Fancy 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


21 


your washer-woman asking you for a gown. I 
guess you’d be real mad, too.” 

‘^No,” said Mary, ‘‘Iwmuld not.” 

But you see,” cried Alice, ‘Miow insolent 
the poor are ! And the woman and her daughter 
actually seemed surprised and mortified, when I 
told them I could not lend my clothes to 
strangers.” 

Scarcely strangers, Alice. You must re- 
member that — that — ” Mary paused, afraid that 
she was preaching.” I mean, that, as the girl 
was about to make her Birst Communion, it 
brought her nearer to you, or, at least ” 

What piety 1 ” cried Alice, sarcastically. 
‘‘ I should like to see you lend her one of your 
white frocks — the new one, for instance ! ” 

Mary walked over to the book-case and look- 
ed at the pretty rows of gilded books. Alice’s 
words had struck home. 

The girl’s name is Anna Doran. And she 
lives in Wilbert’s Court. There, my dear child ! 
Don’t preach to me unless you practice. To 
change the subject, I shall have my new fan 
painted for your party. I have already finished 
a bouquet of jacquemnot roses, on a pale blue 
ground.” 

‘‘ Alice, believe me, there will be no more 


22 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


parties, such as rich girls have, for me. We are 
poor. We shall all have to work.” 

Alice went close to Mary and looked into her 
face. She was struck by its gravity. 

T declare, Mary, you look quite old ! Are 
you really in earnest ? ” 

‘‘ Indeed I am ! ” 

“ Bosh ! ” cried Alice, come live with me. 
You can have half my room and half the village- 
cart, except on Saturdays when I take papa out. 
Let the boys be poor ; if they want to. You 
come and live with us.” 

Mary laughed. 

‘‘ Oh, Alice, how silly you are ! How could 
I leave father, and mother, and Kathleen. I must 
help them. I shall study hard, if I have to stay 
up all night. I know Sister Hortense will give 
me a list of books. I will practice a great deal, 
too.” 

“ Poor people don’t have pianos.” 

‘‘ Perhaps father may let me keep mine.” 

Alice threw herself back in her chair and 
laughed. She mimicked Mary’s last sentence, 
over and over again, with much apparent enjoy- 
ment. 

‘‘ Oh, dear,” she cried at last, you will kill 
me ! Perhaps your papa may buy you a monkey. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


23 


and then, you can go about the streets a V Italienne 
and help to support the family.’’ 

Alice saw a dangerous sparkle in Mary’s eye, 
for Mary had by nature what is called a temper,” 
but she had been taught to subdue it. 

Well, good-bye, Mary. If you will take 
summer boarders when you go on the farm. I’ll 
come. But I think it’s real mean about your 
party. And all the girls will talk it over and say 
unkind things. It will be quite too awfully fool- 
ish ! ” 

Alice kissed Mary on both cheeks and then 
bounded away. 

Mary, left to herself, knelt down near the 
wide window-seat and cried. Her grief may 
seem a small thing to older people occupied with 
affairs that seem greater, but to her it was very 
bitter. To have all the girls, to whose entertain- 
ments she had been invited, over and over again, 
saying that Mary Beresford was too mean to keep 
her promise about the birthday party. They 
would talk about it in school. Sister Ilortense 
would give her comfort, she knew; but then. 
Sister Ilortense was not the girls, and she could 
not control their thoughts and speeches. It did 
look mean, Mary admitted to herself. She had 
talked so much about the party and her new gown. 

She opened the box that enclosed that pre- 


24 STORIES OF DUTY. 


Clous article. She said to herself that she would 
wear it ; she would speak to her father and tell 
him that he ought to give her a last party, and 
how mean the girls would think her. How love- 
ly the dress would look ! If she could only wear 
it and have one more good time, in spite of every- 
thing. Some how or other, just then, little Kath- 
leen’s sing-song tune ran through her mind, re- 
peating the answer in the Catechism to the ques- 
tion, ‘‘ Why did God make you ? ” 

Would it be serving God to worry her dear 
father just now,and, perhaps, coax him into spend- 
ing money for luxuries that he really needed for 
necessities ? 

But Alice said she had promised to invite 
the girls to a party. 

But then, her father had been rich. Kow, he 
was poor. She had talked of the party as a fixed 
fact, but she had not invited anybody. Ko, she 
had not promised anything. 

If she could only wear that lovely white 
frock — ^just once! But no — she must be a poor 
girl now, and not expect to go to parties in white 
gowns with silver trimmings. 

Alice Howe’s visit had disturbed her. It had 
made her uneasy and discontented. The incident of 
the child whose mother wanted to borrow the 
white frock, came into her mind. Ought she 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


25 


to make a sacrifice and give up this beautiful 
gown ? 

She ran down to the sitting-room, a glorious 
room this morning, flooded with sunlight and gay 
with flowering plants. Her mother was reading 
‘‘ The Following of Christ.’’ 

“ Well, Mary ? ” she said. 

“ Mother, Alice Howe has just been telling 
me of a poor girl who has no frock to wear at her 
First Communion, and I thought ” 

Mrs. Beresford looked a little troubled. 

‘‘ You know, my dear, we are not as we used 
to be, and I am afraid I have no white stuflf that 
would do for such a dress. And I don’t think 
you have any that would suit.” 

‘‘ Oh, yes, I have,” said Mary, eagerly. “ My 
new one ! ” 

‘‘ But, my dear, it is so pretty, and too expen- 
sive for a poor child to wear.” 

‘‘ Nothing is too pretty to give to Our Lord, 
is it, mother ? And I am only a poor child now.” 

Mrs. Beresford smiled. 

‘‘ It would be a great sacrifice, you know. 
It is not a duty for you to give your lovely dress 
away.” 

‘‘ I want to make some sacrifice,” said Mary, 
‘‘because Ood may bless the future more and 
more, and make father well.” 


26 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Mrs. Beresford said nothing for a time. 

“ Where do the people, Alice spoke of, live ? ” 
Back in the court. Their name is Doran.” 
Mrs. Beresford’s face brightened. 

Oh, yes — a very respectable family. The 
father is a chronic invalid, in a hospital. The 
mother did some work for me when Sarah was 
sick. You can go over and see them. I think, 
though, that, if you give the young girl your 
frock, you had better take the silver lace from it. 
It would look conspicuous and out of place.” 
Very well, mother. Can I go now ? ” 

Mrs. Beresford smiled, and Mary ran off to 
get her hat. 


III. 

It only wanted a few days of the great feast 
when the children of the parish, in which 
the Dorans lived, were to make their First Com- 
munion. There was much preparation in many 
households. The boys were to wear new suits, if 
possible, with white rosettes on their breasts ; and 
the girls to have white frocks with blue sashes. 

Anna Doran had passed her examination for 
that happy circle that was to approach the altar. 

Anna was thirteen years old and large for 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY» 


27 


her age — in fact she was quite as stout and a lit- 
tle taller than Mary Beresford. She had lived in 
the country, far from a church, and her First 
Communion had been postponed. 

The Dorans were very poor. Dick, Anna’s 
elder brother, lay on a lounge in their little par- 
lor, unable to speak. He had been thrown from 
a wagon and internally injured. Mrs. Doran 
went out to people’s houses and acted as laundress. 

Anna was obliged to stay at home, to nurse 
Dick. 

To-day Anna was unusually silent. She was 
a ruddy-cheeked girl, with dark brown hair, dark 
blue eyes, and a good-humored expression. Gen- 
erally, she was very gay and cheerful ; but to-day 
her fits of quietness made her brother wonder. 

Anna had a deep grief in her heart. It may 
seem as small to you as Mary’s, for in both cases, 
a frock was concerned. Anna’s was much the 
greater. She had only two worn and patched 
dresses. They might be made to do in the street, 
for they were always neat and clean ; but they 
were so old and rust-colored, from hard wear, that 
she could not wear either of them in church on 
the great day. Oh, if she only had a white frock ! 
But it was useless to wish for such an impossible 
thing. Her mother could scarcely get sufficient 
money to pay the rent and Dick’s medicine bill. 


28 


STORIES OP DllTYo 


Dick would have given her a frock, if he were 
well and able to earn money. And her dear 
father could not do it. They had never let him 
know how poor they were. He was looking for- 
ward to see Anna come to his bedside at the hos- 
pital, in her white dress, after the function at 
the church. Tears came into Anna’s eyes when 
she thought of his disappointment. 

Her mother had thought of asking Mrs. 
Howe for an old frock of Alice’s. We know how 
that turned out. The time was so near, and no- 
body would help her to the thing she most wan- 
ted — though it was a little thing ! She saw many 
girls in the street carelessly wearing white dress- 
es. And she said a Hail Mary to save herself 
from envying them. While Dick slept, after she 
had tenderly washed his face and hands and 
combed his hair, she took out her rosary and 
prayed that she might he allowed to make her 
First Communion with the others. 

After all, she thought, Our dear Lord will 
know best.” And then the fear and anxiousness 
left her. She busied herself in arranging a few 
flowers on the table, sent to Dick by a neighborn 
ing market-woman. There was a knock. 

Anna opened the door and Mary stood on 
the threshold, smiling a little. 

‘‘ May I come in ? ” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


29 


‘‘ Certainly,” answered Anna, recognizing 
her guest, for she had seen her at church, you 
are Miss Beresford, are you not ? 

I am Mary Beresford.” And, catching 
sight of the covered figure on the sofa, ‘‘ is your 
brother sick ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Anna, ‘‘ he is better now ; he is 
asleep.” 

‘‘ I must talk softly, then.” 

Anna gave her a chair, and, as she noticed 
how neat and tasteful her guest’s dress was, she 
wished hers was less shabby. Then the remem- 
l)rance of her own trouble which so nearly con- 
cerned a dress, came to her and she sighed. 

Mary’s quick ear caught the sigh. 

I must tell you why I came, I hope you will 
not be offended. I was told that you were to make 
your First Communion with the others in a few 
days.” 

‘‘ Not with the others, I’m afraid.” 

An eager question rose to Mary’s lips; but 
she did not speak it. She waited for Anna to go 
on. But Anna paused. Mary felt the difiSculty 
of alluding to the frock, now that she had come. 

Suddenly, Dick who had been dozing and not 
aware that a stranger was present, spoke — 

‘^If I were rich, Anna, do you know what 


30 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


I’d do? Why, I’d just buy you a new dress, so 
that you could look like the other girls.” 

Hush, Dick, Miss Beresford is here.” 

Dick looked up and smiled at Mary. He 
was very pale ; but sickness could not take the 
expression of good nature entirely out of his face. 
His half-open eyes, his stiff red hair, and even his 
weak voice expressed good nature. Dick nodded 
towards Mary and then relapsed into a doze again. 

I came to ask you if I might give you a 
frock I have,” said Mary, plunging into the sub- 
ject in desperation, “ I haven’t worn it, and if 
you would please take it, I would be obliged ” 

Anna could scarcely credit the words. 

“ It is a nice white frock and I think it will 
fit you.” 

Anna hid her face in her hands, and Mary 
saw tears trickling through her fingers. 

‘‘ I am so sorry — I hope you are not offended. 
Indeed — indeed ” 

Offended ! ” cried Anna, taking away her 
hands and looking at Mary with tear-filled eyes, 
‘‘ you don’t know how happy you have made me ! 
It seemed so dreadful not to be able to go with 
the others. And father would be so disappointed, 
if I did not go in white. Oh, dear, if you will 
only lend me your dress, I shall be very, very 
happy ! ” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


31 


Mary’s face glowed with pleasure. 

“ I will give it to you, if you will take it. 
Let me see. You are just about my size. I’ll 
send it over this afternoon. I must go now. 
Good-bye ! ” 

Mary hurried away, to escape Anna’s thanks. 
All her forebodings were forgotten — all her desire 
to wear her pretty frock was gone — she almost 
ran home. She met Alice Howe coming out of 
a confectioner’s shop, vdth a big box of chocolate 
boU’bons. Alice called to her to stop and have 
some, but Mary shook her head ; she was eager to 
get home. 

It did not take her long to rip off the 
silver lace from the white gown. She did it, sing- 
ing cheerfully. She knew now how sweet it 
is to make others happy. It is really the 
most solid pleasure in this world of fading joys. 

Her mother gave her some thin stuff for a 
veil for Anna, and some blue ribbon. In the 
afternoon, Mary put the precious frock in its box, 
and, with the veil and ribbon wrapped in tissue 
paper, went with Kathleen to Wilbert’s Court. 

Kathleen talked quite gaily to Dick and 
amused herself with a cat, while Anna tried on 
the frock and Mary critically inspected it in the 
kitchen. A little pinning and a few stitches 
made the dress just right. 


32 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Anna forgot her bashfulness in the excite- 
ment of the process, and, Mary had so many sug- 
gestions to make, that she talked very much and 
very fast — an unusual thing with her. 

At last Anna stood arrayed in the new dress. 
Dick almost jumped from his sofa in delight. 

‘‘ She is prettier than Alice Howe,? cried 
Kathleen, clapping her hands. 

And much nicer, if she is poor,” thought 

Mary. 

Smiling and blushing, Anna let them admire. 
While they were thus employed, Mrs. Doran en- 
tered ; tired and worn-out, laden with brooms, 
brushes and a bucket. She understood the situ- 
ation at a glance. 

She sat down on a chair near the door and 
looked at Anna. Then she looked at Mary and 
tried to speak. 

‘‘ God bless you, my dear,” she tried to say 
and her voice choked. She began to sob. ‘‘ You 
don’t know what a kindness you’ve done.” 

When Mrs. Doran had wiped her eyes, she 
asked Mary to have tea with the family. Mary 
said she would, partly because she feared to of- 
fend Mrs. Doran, and partly because she wanted 
to see how poor people live. She expected to be 
very poor herself, and she would like to know 
how the poor lived. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


33 


Anna was not long in getting tea ready. A 
round table was moved over near Dick’s sofa, so 
that he could sit up and have his tea, too. A tea- 
pot and five cups and saucers were produced and 
put on the white cloth, with some bread and rasp- 
berry jam. Mary, who expected to see tin cups 
and perhaps wooden spoons, was agreeably sur- 
prised. Everything was as clean and as shining 
as at home. Kathleen laughed and chatted away, 
and enjoyed her tea very much. 

Some paper roses on a stand struck Mary as 
very pretty. She admired them. 

‘‘I almost thought they were real.” 

Anna put them in her hand. 

“ Take them, please,” she said, I made them 
when I had to watch Dick, during the long win- 
ter nights.” 

Mary thanked and brought a vivid look of 
delight to Anna’s face, by putting them in her 
belt. After a pleasant hour, Mary and Kath- 
leen said good-bye. 

In the evening, Mary told her father all 
about her visits. He was very much interested. 

“ And so you gave up your new dress ? ” 

‘‘ It wasn’t much loss to me, father, I didn’t 
need it.” 

Well, my dear,” said her father, smiling — 
how that smile on his pale face cheered her in 


34 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


after years ! — I have heard that Carmelite Nuns 
say, when they heard of a good deed, ‘ God re- 
ward you ! ^ I say, with all my heart, ‘ God re- 
ward you,’ little girl ! ” 

Dermot and Brian were eager to know more 
about their new home. 

“ I am going to take you out to see it to- 
morrow,” their father said. Now let us have 
some singing, ‘ The air shall be filled with 
music ’ ” 

Kathleen broke in with great pride — 

‘ And the cares that infest the day 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 

And silently steal away.’ ” 

Shakespeare ! ” said Brian. 

“ Longfellow ! ” cried Kathleen, triumph- 
antly. ‘‘ You boys don’t know everything! ” 

They laughed. Song followed song until 
Mrs. Beresford gave Gounod’s Ave Maria.” 
After that they sat quiet, as the moonlight stole 
into the room. 

They were all fond of music. There was one 
fear that oppressed Brian ; — Would they be too 
poor in the country to have their piano ? ” The 
rest were pondering over the same question. 
Kathleen suddenly asked it. 

^‘No,” Mr. Beresford said, ‘‘we shall take 
the piano with us, and Brian’s fiddle, too.” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


35 


Brian’s spirits rose. He went to the piano 
and began — 

“ < I love to play the violin, 

And hear its sound so sweet, 

It gently rests beneath rny chin, 

My weary heart to greet. 

< I cannot play it very well : 

I have not learned it long ; 

And when I play, as you can tell, 

I get a little wrong. 

<< ‘ Those stupid folks who live next door. 

They hate the violin ; 

But I will practice more and more. 

My dear old violin ! ’ ” 

“ Shakespeare ! ” cried Dermot. “ Isn’t it 
Kathleen?” 

Kathleen looked puzzled. 

“ I found it in my scrap-book the other day 
— out of the Keynote, I think. It expresses iny 
feelings to a T.” 

Mr. Beresford was very quiet ; but he was 
happy. He looked at the little group and thank- 
ed God that poverty could not make them poorer 
in love for one another. They said good-night, 
after the rosary had been recited, and went to 
dream of their new, strange “ home,” 


36 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


IV. 

Dermot had his trials. While Mary was de- 
bating about the fate of her white frock, his be- 
loved bicycle had hung in the balance. To tell 
the truth, Dermot was in debt. His father had 
always been very liberal. It was Mr. Beresford’s 
custom to allow the boys a certain sum, every 
quarter, for spending money, and Dermot expec- 
ted, as usual, thirty dollars on the first day of the 
coming month. But when Mr. Beresford made 
his announcement at the breakfast table, Dermot 
felt that he ought not to ask for it, and his heart 
sank. He owed Arthur Morris five dollars for 
his share in a lawn tennis set ; he owed thirteen 
dollars for his rowing suit to a tailor, and ten 
more for a big collection of stamps to a stationer 
on Tenth Street. He had in his pocket-book ex- 
actly one dollar and a half. He said to himself, 
that he ought not to ask his father for more 
money, and he must depend on his allowance to 
pay his debts. Dermot thought and thought. 
What a fool he had been to spend last quarter’s 
allowance so recklessly, and to run in debt. He 
would never run in debt again ! But now, how 
was he to get out of it ? 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


37 


What could he sell ? 

His books ? 'No ; he would not part with 
them. 

His collection of stamps ? Nobody would 
buy them. He had tried that before. 

His magic lantern ? The slides were not all 
in good condition. He could think of nothing 
saleable — everything he owned was more or less 
dilapidated, for Hermot had never learned to be 
careful of things. Arthur Morris had offered 
him seventy-five dollars for his bicycle. But, he 
said to himself, that he would never part with 
that. It was as dear as a horse to him. He had 
had too many pleasant days with that pleasant 
companion, to let it go now. No — he would keep 
it. But he thought of the bills that hung over 
him. 

Oh, dear! he cried, ‘‘ why didn’t I remem- 
ber that father has always said, ‘ Do without 
things rather than go into debt. The debtor is 
generally a slave.’ I wish I had remembered 
that.” 

Regrets were useless. The bills must be paid 
by the first. He had promised. He would not 
ask his father for the money, no matter what 
might happen. That would be too mean ! He 
had heard his father’s sigh when he had written 
a check for the household expenses of the month. 


38 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


His mother had given him the bicycle at Christ- 
mas. He went and knocked at the door of her 
room ; when she answered, he asked her if he 
might sell his bicycle. 

“ I won’t have much chance to use it on the 
farm.” 

‘‘You may,” his mother said, “you will not 
be at work all the time, Dermot.” 

“ But I owe some money, mother, and I don’t 
want to ask father for it.” 

He said this with a blush. 

Mrs. Beresford was silent for an instant ; 
then she looked at him as if she had read his 
thoughts. 

“ Be honest, in spite of all, my boy,” she said. 
“ It is better to make a sacrifice than to add to 
your father’s burdens.” 

Dermot turned away with a heavy heart. 
Somehow, he had expected that his mother would 
have made the thing easy for him, in some way. 
She had always done so. He went downstairs, 
feeling that he must take more responsibilities. 

He would soon be a man. He went out to 
Arthur Morris’ house and rang the bell. Yes, 
Arthur was at home. He had just come from 
school. Dermot would find him in the yard. 
There Dermot did find him, practising with his 
Indian clubs. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


39 


The bargain was soon made. Arthur was 
eager to have the bicycle. 

ril come over to your house and father will 
send you a check for it to-night.” 

‘‘Very well,” Dermot said, with a pang. 

A little later, Arthur rode triumphantly off 
towards the park on Dermot’s bicycle. Dermot 
followed the flash and glitter of the wheel until 
it was lost to sight. 

Dermot had no real sorrows in life, and this 
sacriflce cut him very deep. It lightened Mrs. 
Beresford’s heart. “ The children have not been 
made selfish by prosperity,” she said to herself, 
“ I can trust them to do their duty, I think.” 

On the morning after Dermot’s bargain, the 
postman brought him an envelope. It con- 
tained Mr. Morris’ check for seventy-five dollars. 
Dermot was off like a flash to pay his debts. It 
did not take him long, and he went back home 
with a much lighter heart. 

Mr. Beresford kept his promise to take the 
family out to the new “home.” It would be a 
very dreary prospect, indeed, that would have 
kept away smiles and jokes from the four Beres- 
fords, on a bright day, with a railroad journey in- 
to the country before them. Brian carried a big 
hamper which he had packed with cold ham and 
chicken. He declared that he always became fe- 


40 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


rociously hungry when traveling, and that father 
could not afford to buy luncheon at every stop. 

Mr. Beresford, looking weak and care-worn, 
smiled at this. 

I am glad you accept the situation, Brian,’’ 
he said, ‘‘ I am afraid the railroad fares will use 
up all that I ought to spend to-day.” 

It seemed queer to the children to know that 
their father was quite in earnest in this. He had 
never considered money before. 

They were a half-hour early for the train, and 
while they waited, Dermot went up to the ticket 
office and returned with six return ” tickets. 

‘‘ It’s my treat to-day, father,” he said, with 
the air of a millionaire. 

His father smiled, but seemed pre-occupied. 
Brian at once asserted that Dermot had robbed a 
bank. jhulI 

The journe' was very pleasant. For some 
distance the; ^ew in the track of the silver 
Schuylkill, sheltered by its banks of soft green. 
Then into delightfully rich and undulating land, 
past well-kept farms and blossoming orchards. 

At last they were told by their father that 
the next stop would be Sherwood Station. The 
announcement was a great relief. The station 
consisted of a room with four doors. A bench 
was nailed to the wall. In the centre stood a 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


41 


large stove. A narrow path led from the station 
into a thick growth of wood. A wooden cart 
with chairs in it, waited at the station. Two 
horses were harnessed to it ; a man stood at their 
heads, stolidly chewing tobacco and now and then 
cracking his whip. 

Mr. Beresford spoke to him — 

Are you Mr. Thorne’s hired-man ? ” 

I’m Sam,^’ answered the man, taking a 
shrewd look at Mr. Beresford. I guess you’re 
the stranger that thinks of settling on old Judge 
Binn’s place ? ” 

‘‘ Yes.” 

Sam pushed back his wide-brimmed straw 
hat and smiled at the party. 

‘^Welcome all — heartily welcome. I guess 
we’d better help the women folks into the wagon. 
City people aren’t much ’ Is at climbing.” 

The members of the fami rhaving perched, 
more or less, comfortably on the cl ^drs, they were 
begged by Sam to ‘‘ sit solid ” and to hold on 
tight when they should come to ruts in the road. 
He went on to explain that Mr. Thorne’s ‘‘ Ger- 
mantown ” had broken down the night before, 
and that he had to rig up the only vehicle he 
could, as there wasn’t time to borrow a carriage 
from any of the neighbors. 

It was a very funny ride. It was not easy to 


42 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘sit solid” on wooden chairs, when the spring- 
less cart jilted over large ruts, made by the spring 
floods of rain and bad road-workers. The children 
enjoyed it, however. 

Mr. Thorne’s place consisted of a square farm- 
house, and about fifty acres of flat, rich land. 
There were no trees about his farm and the young 
people condemned it on that account, at once. 
They did not notice, as their father did, the well- 
kept, five-barred fences and the neat, over-run- 
ning barns and trim hay-stacks. 

Mr. Thorne, a jolly hospitable fa rmer, dressed 
in his “ store clothes,” came out to welcome the 
visitors. 

“ Come right in ” he said, in a hearty voice. 

“ Good-morning Miss Beresford, good-morning 
youngsters — Maria ” he called, “ they’re here ! ” 

Maria, a stout, kindly -looking woman, came 
in, kissed the girls, shook hands with Mrs. Beres- 
ford, and insisted upon taking their bonnets and 
wraps. 

“ Dinner is just on the table. Come in.” 

Dermot, Brian, and Kathleen were delighted 
by this want of ceremony. Dinner was the word 
they were waiting for. They followed Mrs. 
Thorne into a large kitchen, hung with bright 
tins, and scrubbed to almost snowy whiteness. 

At the long table, laden with meat, vegeta- 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


43 


bles and pies, several men in their shirt sleeves’’ 
were seated. 

I don’t make company of you, you see, ” 
said Mrs. Thorne, and I hope you’ll excuse our 
hired-men for beginning to eat before you came. 
They’re hungry, poor fellows ! ” 

The men grinned. 

Mr. Beresford was put on the right side of 
his host, with a big pitcher of milk at his elbow. 
His wife was opposite. The children were sand- 
wiched between the hired-men. 

The Beresfords, according to custom, made 
the sign of the cross before they sat down. 

Mrs. Thorne watched them in astonishment, 
and whispered to her husband as she passed his 
chair — 

They look nice ; but what’s that sign. Are 
they Masons, Ike ? ” 

Ike laughed. 

No, they’re Catholics.” 

Mrs. Thorne made a gesture of horror over 
the roast mutton. 

‘‘ We’ll have the Pope here next.” 

The husband laughed again. 

“ ladmire their grit,” he whispered, ‘‘ they’re 
not ashamed of their religion.” 

Mrs. Thorne was only half satisfied. She 
had been brought up in a part of the country 


44 


STORIES OE DUTY. 


where a Catholic, with the exception of an occa- 
sional farm -laborer, was unknown. She had a 
horror of Catholics, for her mind had been filled 
with all kinds of stories concerning them, from 
her earliest childhood. 

Still, as she looked at Mr. Beresford’s good 
face, and the frank, gentle look of the rest, she 
said to herself, that all ‘SRomanists” could not 
be as bad as those she had read about. She offer- 
ed them all the hospitality in her power, and 
Kathleen’s plate was over-crowded with all the 
delicacies of the farm. 

After dinner, Mr. Thorne volunteered to show 
them the place which Mr. Beresford had just 
bought. It lay about a quarter of a mile down 
the road, in a direct line from Mr. Thorne’s. 
Mrs. Thorne put on her sun-bonnet and trotted 
along by Mrs. Beresford’s side. She was full of 
gossip about the farm-work. 

Mrs. Beresford asked her if there were nice 
neighbors. 

‘‘Well enough,” Mrs. Thorne replied, “but 
they will not have much to do with you because 
you’re Romanists ; but I don’t hold that way. 
Pious is as pious does, I say.” 

Mrs. Beresford smiled. 

Mary’s face reddened with indignation. 

“ I don’t think we shall have much to do 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY, 


45 


with them/’ she said. “ They must be very 
ignorant people.” 

“It’s hard to do without neighbors in the 
country,” said Mrs. Thorne. “ You see,” she 
added, catching a warning glance from her hus- 
band, “ we’re mostly Methodists or Baptists around 
here. All the Romanists and the Dutch are on 
the other side of the hill, so we kind of hold to- 
gether. Some of us are awful set in our way of 
thinking.” 

Mr. Thorne edged around to his wife and 
whispered — 

“ Don’t you go disgusting these folks with 
the neighbors. He has only half made the bar- 
gain and the Judge will be mad, if he backs out.” 

“ I do wish they weren’t Romanists,” return- 
ed his wife, in another whisper which Mary could 
not help hearing. “ I think they’d be real nice 
folks.” 

“ Never you mind their religion. There are 
just as good Catholics as other people.” 

Mrs. Thorne sighed. 

By this time the party had reached a square, 
stone house, “ pointed ” with white splashes of 
cement. It stood back some distance from the 
road. There was a lawn in front of it, divided 
from the road by a low rail fence. The lawn was 
decorated by several rose-bushes, a clump of lilacs, 


46 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


and four spreading oak trees. The shutters of 
the house badly wanted painting. Back of the 
house, between it and a tall barn, stretched rows 
of peach, plum, pear, and apple trees. The air 
seemed full of exquisite blossoms. Showers of 
pink and white fell in all directions, as a fresh 
wind began to blow. 

Mary was astonished by the beauty of the 
- scene. Mrs. Beresford watched the pleasure of the 
others. Kathleen, whose lungs were weak, drew 
a long breath of the delicious air. Mr. Beresford 
straightened up and seemed to feel invigorated. 

They walked up the path into the house. A 
hall-way, in which stood a high clock nailed with 
brass to the wall, led between four rooms — two on 
each side — to the back. The children ran through 
the hall and found themselves in the orchard. 
Here they had a game of hide and seek, at once. 
The elders went through the house. The rooms 
were small, but there were plenty of closets. 
Mrs. Beresford was very glad. She said that 
never in her life had she had enough closets. 

Some repairs were badly needed ; but on the 
whole, the old house, built before the Bevolution, 
was in fairly good condition. The vegetable gar- 
den, an unusually wide space of ground on the 
right of the orchard, was next examined. The 
late occupant had kept it in good condition dur- 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


47 


ing the winter, and Mr. Beresford would only 
have to continue his work. 

The house stood on a hill. A narrow river 
touched the boundary of Mr. Beresford’s ninety 
acres. From the doorstep one could see even the 
sjiires of the distant town. 

‘‘How lovely ! ’’ Mrs. Beresford exclaimed. 
“ It will be a great privilege to live in this exhil- 
i rating air, and look on this scene every day of 
our lives.” 

Dermot thought that even a lovely scene in 
the country might become tiresome. 

“ It will be always the same,” he said, with 
a sigh. 

Brian laughed. 

“ Why Dermot, how can you say that ? The 
scene has changed since we came here. See, the 
river is darker and the hills less blue. The mist 
has lifted. I could stay here always ! ” 

“ Don’t be too rash, my boy,” said Mr. Beres- 
ford. “We must all try to be cheerful and con- 
tented. It is our duty. One gloomy or discon- 
tented one among us will spoil everything. A 
pleasant home-life makes outside work all the 
easier.” 

Dermot sighed. Duty, he said to himself, is 
a very hard thing. 

The farm contained some large patches of 


48 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


woodland. This delighted the children. To own 
their own woods seemed to them an exquisite 
thing! To city children there is a wonderful 
mystery about woods. They have been nurtured 
on stories about woods. Were not the men 
who so opportunely came to Red Riding-hood’s 
rescue, wood-choppers ? Was not the Sleeping 
Beauty surprised in a wood ? To the Beresford 
children the wood was a great treasure. 

Kathleen was afraid that a bear or a wolf 
would come out and gobble her up. The rest 
laughed at this, and Brian the loudest of all. 
Kathleen, however, had her revenge when he trip- 
ped over the end of a creeping vine, and made 
Mr. Thorne laugh by declaring, quite seriously, 
that it was a rattle-snake. 

Mr. and Mrs. Beresford saw that there was 
much work before them. Mrs. Beresford was al- 
most reconciled to the prospect by the sight of 
the faint color, which the country breeze had 
brought into her husband’s cheeks. 

Altogether it was a very eventful day. 

They returned to the city shortly after night- 
fall. They were too tired to have music before 
they went to bed. They all admitted that, since 
they were to be poor, it was better to be poor in 
the country. 

Shortly after this visit, Mr, Beresford’s aflPairs 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


49 


were wound up. He had sold his house furnish- 
ed as it was. When all his debts were paid he had 
enough money to stock his farm; and he was 
anxious to get away from the city before the new 
owner of his house should take posession. 

The plainest and simplest part of the furni- 
ture was retained. Mr. Beresford concluded to 
keep the piano, much to the delight of everybody. 

The day of the moving came. It was a day 
of the hardest kind of work. At last, however, 
everything was stored away in the freight car, 
and, by nine o^clock that night, the belongings of 
the Beresfords were scattered over the floors of 
their new home. 

Mr. Thorne and other neighbors came to of- 
fer help. They promised to return the next day. 
And they did. In a short time, beds were set up, 
carpets put down, and the house only needed the 
skillful touches which women know how to give 
to rooms, to be quite home-like. 

Happily, Mary had been obliged by her 
mother to help in the kitchen and dining-room, 
during some hours of each day. She was of 
great use to her mother in preparing dinner for 
the helpers. Mrs. Thorne thoughtfully sent over 
a strong servant who did a great deal of work. 

Never had the children been so tired as they 
were on the night of their first day in the conn 


50 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


try. Lawn tennis and bicycle-riding were trifles 
compared with moving/’ and the getting of 
things to rights.” 

The crucifix and some religious pictures, 
excited comment among the helpers ; but Mr. 
and Mrs. Beresford were so gentle and consider- 
ate, that nothing but half-murmered words of dis- 
approval followed. 

Mrs. Beresford warned the children that they 
were not to lose their temper, in case anything 
rude should be said about religion. 

‘‘ Our best weapon must be gentleness and 
good example. Good example makes more con- 
verts than argument.” 

Dermot did not feel willing to accept this. 
He had heard one of the farmers say something 
about ‘‘ idolatry and worshipping painted Ag- 
gers.” He said to himself that he would make 
that fellow take back his words, if he ever had a 
chance. 

Mr. Beresford knew little of farm-work. 
He had selected this farm because the roads were, 
as he thought, good Given good roads, a fair 
soil, and a situation not too far from town, he 
thought *he could, in time, bring profit from these 
qualities. 

It was now May. The season was backward. 

Potatoes had been planted before Mr. Beres- 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


51 


ford came. A hired-man, who had taken care of 
the farm since February, had put in corn in April, 
under Mr. Beresford’s orders, and plenty of beans ; 
tomatoes had been started under cover. By the 
middle of May the spring work was done, and 
the hired-men left. After this, work began in 
earnest for the boys. 

Mr. Beresford’s intention was to use only 
part of his farm, until he and his young helpers 
had gained experience. With plenty of vegeta- 
bles, enough fodder for the horse and cow, a good 
supply of pork, and an occasional visit from the 
butcher, Mr. Beresford thought that they could 
get through the winter with little expense, and be 
ready to begin farming operations on a larger 
scale in the spring. 

The hired-man had taken good care of the 
raspberry plants. The time for picking the ber- 
ries arrived. Mr. Beresford found that they had 
more than they could possibly use. Mr. Thorne 
offered to get a commission merchant, in Boss- 
ville, to sell them for him, and the Beresfords 
were overjoyed, when, after many days of tire- 
some picking and equally tiresome packing, the 
raspberries which had gone away in little wooden 
boxes, came back in the shape of money. It was 
for the boys, the first money they had ever earned. 

Derraot said that they ought to use it in get- 


52 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


ting a hired-man. His father would not hear 
of it. 

We must save every cent we can.” 

There were no luxuries, except plenty of 
cream. The young people missed the confection- 
ers’ shops, and the various other city temptations 
to the spending of money. 

Brian soon learned to milk the cow. Mary 
suggested that it was her business to do that, but 
her father declared that she would have enough 
to do in the house. And she had. Hard work 
made the “ men folks,” as Mrs. Thorne called 
them, hungry. It tasked Mary’s ingenuity to 
provide three meals a day for the “ cormorants,” 
as she called them. 

Mrs. Beresford’s love of comfort soon chang- 
ed the interior of the farm-house, and it began to 
seem something like their own home. There 
was little time for music or for study. Every- 
body had to get up so early and work so hard, 
that sleep was very welcome. 

The Beresfords watched their neighbor’s 
way of doing things, and Mr. Thorne was always 
ready with advice. The summer passed unevent- 
fully. In September, after four months of the 
hardest work they had ever done, the hay and 
oats were safe in the barn, and the back-bone of 
the year’s labor broken. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


53 


They had sold a good number of baskets of 
ox-heart cherries, the apples looked well, but the 
pears were, evidently, going to fail. 

Kathleen’s hens had not done much, but 
they were promising. She was very careful of 
them. Her father had promised her all the 
money she could make out of them. 

About this time, the family began to consid- 
er its loss and gain. Mr. Beresford was better ; 
the young people were all strong and brown ; 
Brian’s chest, which showed a tendency to be 
hollow, had swelled out, and Mrs. Beresford’s de- 
light in the wonderfully beautiful changes of 
nature, pleased the rest. 

Dermot was discontented. The work had 
been hard, sometimes, in the hot weather, he had 
thought it was more than he could stand ; but he 
did not mind that so much. There was no career 
for him. He dreamed of going to college and 
coming out ready to enter a profession. That was 
all over now. He supposed he would be a farmer 
for the rest of his days. 

Dermot had never been very studious. But, 
now that his opportunities had slipped from him, 
he began to value study and to realize its use. 

The Fall passed, until November came. 
Everybody, except Dermot, was charmed by the 
gorgeous changes that took place in the woods. 


54 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Yellow, from the palest cream to the deepest or- 
ange, was intermingled with the lightest pink 
and the deepest crimson. Beech, and maple, and 
oak, contributed their various shades of color to 
the magnificent bouquet which October presented 
to the year. 

This was a pleasant time for the Beresfords. 
jSTow they could rest. There was a large stock of 
vegetables laid in — enough to support the family 
during the winter. The barn was sufficiently well 
filled with hay and oats. Mr. Beresford breathed 
freely. He had made three hundred dollars from 
the sale of surplus vegetables and berries ; they 
were all stronger and healthier. His wife felt so 
well that she objected, strongly, to his having a 
woman to come over and do the washing ; but he 
would not hear of that. 

Mrs. Beresford sometimes sighed as she 
thought of the ruined prospects of the boys. 
Work on a farm does not leave much time for 
sighing, and her sighs became more and more in- 
frequent. 

One October day, at the breakfast table — 
which was quite as pleasant, but with less rich ap- 
pointments than formerly — Mr. Beresford said — 

‘‘We must begin some regular studies and 
outline a plan of head-work for the winter, when 
we will not have much to do, except the chores.” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


55 


Mary looked ruddy and cheerful, seated be- 
hind a large bunch of marigolds and dahlias. 

‘‘ You have given me a marigold for my but- 
ton-hole, this morning,” her father said, interrupt- 
ing himself to smile at her. It’s Our Lady’s 
flower, you know. L'or de Marie^ I have heard a 
French-woman call it — Mary’s gold. As I was 
saying, we’ll have to get down the Latin books, 
boys, brush the dust oS them and get to work.” 

‘‘ Much good it will do us,” muttered Dermot. 

My dear boy,” said Mr. Beresford, very 
gently, nothing that one studies is ever lost. 
It always pays to study.” 

Dermot sighed. 

‘‘I don’t see what good Latin will do us 
farmers — here in the wilderness.” 

Nevertheless, Dermot,” answered his father, 
you will study.” 

‘‘ I suppose I must,” Dermot said, ‘‘ but I 
think nothing is of any use here, except to know 
about manures and that sort of thing.” 

“ Oh, father ! ” broke in Brian, “ let us have 
a picnic to-day and begin studies to-morrow.” 

Mr. Beresford readily agreed. It did not 
take long to get rid of the morning’s work. 
Willing hands make easy work, the proverb says. 

By half-past eight o’clock, Dermot had his 
gun ready ; Brian, his fishing rod ; Mrs. Beres- 


56 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


ford, a book she wanted to read; Kathleen an 
album for drying leaves, and Mary, a book on 
botany. Between them, Dermot and Brian car- 
ried a basket of luncheon. 

There was a slight autumn mist in the air, 
made more misty by the blue smoke from the 
burning brush-wood in the various places around 
them. It was an exquisite day. 

‘‘ They may talk of Italy,” said Mr. Beres- 
ford, ‘‘but you children can honestly say that 
there never was a more perfect sky, or purer air 
in Naples. I have been there.” 

“ Three cheers for America ! ” cried Brian. 
“ Hooray ! hooray ! ” 

The spot chosen for the day’s rest was at the 
top of a wood-crowned hill, which, to-day, was 
more beautiful in its vari-colored vesture, than 
Solomon in all his glory. 

Mr. Beresford told the boys to put up the 
hammocks for their mother and Mary. Mrs. Ber- 
esford settled comfortably to her book, and Mary 
opened a letter which Brian had brought from 
the post-office. Dermot set to work to clean 
his gun, and Brian went off to the river accom- 
panied by Kathleen. 

“ Oh mother ! ” cried Mary, all aglow with 
pleasure. “ Guess who has written to me ? ” 

“ Alice Howe? ” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


57 


Oh, dear, no.’’ Mary was sore because Alice 
had not written to her. It’s from Anna Doran. 
I’ll read it.^’ And Mary began — 

Dear Miss Bereseord, 

‘‘ I have just found out your address 
from Mrs. Howe, whom my mother asked for it. 
My mother has gone to New York, for six months, 
to nurse a lady who is sick there. 

‘‘ I never had a chance to tell you how pleased 
father was to see me in your white frock. It was 
the happiest day of my life, when he blessed me 
and thanked God for letting him live, to see his 
little Anna make her First Communion. I have 
put the frock away in a box ; I have been very 
careful of it ; and I will give it back to you with 
my best thanks. 

I want to ask you a question. It seems to 
me that housework must come hard on you and 
your mother. Now, will you let me come and do 
it for you ? 

‘‘ I don’t like to leave Dick ; he is better now 
and can work a few days a week ; but he does not 
gain strength. I hope that when I have been with 
you ( if you will take me.) I may find a place for 
Dick near you ; I am sure he would improve in 
the countrj^ air. I do not want wages, only a frock 
and shoes once in a while, and a chance to read in 
the evenings. You see, I do not write very well, 
and, if you would set a copy, sometimes, I would 
be grateful. Do, please, Miss Beresford, ask your 


58 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


mother to let me come. I can cook and do all 
kinds of housework. Grod bless you ! 

‘‘ Yours, very truly, 

Anna M. Doran.” 

The spelling was very fair, and the writing, 
although a little shaky in some letters, was not so 
bad. 

‘‘Well?” said Mrs. Beresford. “What do you 
want me to do ? ” 

Mary looked up at her mother and asked, in 
her turn — 

“ What shall I ask you to do ? ” 

Father and mother both laughed. 

“ We’ll think it over until luncheon time, and 
put it to the vote.” 

Lunch time did not come enough to suit the 
boys, who were always hungry. Under a wide- 
spreading oak, Mary and Kathleen laid the cloth 
on smooth, soft grass. The solids provided soon 
disappeared ; copious draughts of cool spring 
water, which Mr. Beresford said was more deli- 
cious than champagne, followed the solids, and 
then Mary drew from a smaller basket, an im- 
mense apple pie and a large bottle of cream. This 
unexpected dessert was greeted with acclamations. 

When Brian had finished the last morsel of 
pie, Mary proposed to read Anna’s letter. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


59 


Now,” said Mr. Beresford, stretching him- 
self on the grass and looking up at the blue sky, 
“ I shall leave the decision to you children, with 
your mother’s permission. I know that Anna 
Doran is a strong, good-natured young girl. She 
can be of use to us. And, if she were alone, there 
could be no question as to the advantage for us. 
But, I do not want to separate her from her 
brother. Shall we take an invalid here? ” 

The boys looked at each other. They had 
work enough, without having a sick man on their 
hands. 

I quite agree with your mother ” said Mr. 
Beresford. “ Anna will lighten the work of your 
mother and sisters, boys. On the other hand, an 
invalid, to be waited on and amused, may increase 
yours.” 

“ But it would be such a kind act,” said 
Mary. “ And Dick may get so much better in the 
country, that he may be a help instead of a bur- 
den.” 

Sick men are always nuisances,” murmured 
Brian. ‘‘Poor people can’t afford to be kind. 
We’re too poor to be kind.” 

“ Poor people need not be selfish,” said Mary. 
“ What do you say Dermot ? ” 

Dermot’s face was rather gloomy. lie did 
not like strange faces, and for all he knew, the 


60 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Dorans might eat with their knives and have very 
bad manners. They might interfere with him in 
some way. It was all very well for Mary to have 
somebody to help her, but it would be very uncom- 
fortable to have strange people in the house. 

Kathleen was pleased. She had taken a 
fancy to Anna Doran. 

‘‘ Well ? ” said Mrs. Beresford. 

Mary saw that the boys were against her, and 
she also saw that Brian’s eyes were fixed with re- 
gret on the remains of the apple pie. With a de- 
mure smile, she opened her basket again and drew 
out a half-dozen peach dumplings, baked to a de- 
lightfully brown tint. 

‘‘ Oh my ! ” cried Brian, involuntarily. 

The gloom on the brow of the fastidious 
Dermot gave place to a grin of expectation. 

“ Very good, Mary,” he said, “ did you bring 
any sauce ? ” 

Mary had given special attention to the prep- 
aration of the sauce. 

“ Well boys ? What do you say ? ” 

“ Oh, I say let ’em come ! ” exclaimed Brian. 

Dermot was silent. 

It may save Dick’s life,” said Mary, “ and 
Anna will help us so much about the house. She 
has never had a really cheerful home. 

Dermot did not want to give in. He asked 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


61 


himself whether he was selfish or not, and he 
was honest enough to conclude that he was. 

“ I don’t like the idea,” he said, but if it’s 
going to help the fellow along, I’m not going to 
object.” 

‘‘ All in favor of the proposition,” — began 
Brian, 

“ What proposition ? ” demanded Mrs. Beres- 
ford, smiling. “ I am chairman here, young 
man. All in favor of having Dick and Anna 
Doran here for a visit, please say ‘Aye’ ” 

“Aye ! ” they all exclaimed. 

“All of a contrary opinion, say ‘ No ’ ! ” 

Nobody answered. 

“The ‘Ayes’ have it! Mary may write to 
ask them to come.” 

“ Oh, thank you 1 ” said Mary. “ I am sure 
we shall never regret it.” 

A little while after this Dermot shot two 
rabbits, and Brian “ hooked ” a fair number of 
fish. The spoil was brought back to their father 
and mother in triumph. 

Dermot and Brian found a clump of chest- 
nut trees separated from the rest of the wood by 
a deep ravine. They had brought with them a 
base-ball bat. Dermot used it for clubbing down 
the chestnuts, much to Kathleen’s delight ; the 
ground under the trees was soon strewn with 


62 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


chestnuts enclosed in their burrs. Once, when 
Dermot had thrown the bat higher than usual, 
it fell on the other side of the ravine. Dermot 
was about to cross over for it when he saw a boy 
come out of a clump of oaks on the other side. 
He called to him. 

What do you want ? ” demanded the hoy. 
He was a lank, yellow-skinned boy, named Job 
Fitts. He lived about a mile from the Beres- 
fords. 

Will you please throw over my hat ? ’’ 

Job looked around, saw, and grasped the 

bat. 

“ Findin’s keepings ! he yelled, with a grin. 
‘‘Us boys on this side always keep what we 
find ! ” 

“ You shall not keep my bat,’’ cried Dermot. 

Job grinned defiantly. 

“ Pop says you’re only Papists, and ignorant 
idolators ! ” 

“ Let’s go for him ! ” cried Brian. 

Dermot was rushing across the ravine to 
recover his bat, when Job, who had been grinning 
and waving it with a triumphant air, made a leap 
into the air, suggestive of great and gleeful hap- 
piness. He certainly had the advantage. He 
was in possession of the bat, and Dermot and 
Brian would find it hard work to reach him, for 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


63 


the ravine was filled with creeping vines and 
prickly blackberry bushes. 

Job Fitts felt that he was safe enough. He 
knew the capabilities of that ravine for trip- 
l^ing unwary feet better than the other boys did. 
lie also knew that there was a narrow but muddy 
stream at the bottom, hidden by luxuriant weeds. 
He grinned, yelled, and danced in a warlike man- 
ner, swinging the bat. 

“ Let me catch him, that’s all ! ” cried Brian, 
‘^ril teach him to steal our bat.” 

Just as our boys had made a descent partly 
into the ravine, Job, carried away by his feelings, 
climbed on a rock and stood on one leg. Not 
satisfied with this, he mounted higher, the better 
to show his indifference to the approaching 
enemy. 

lie miscalculated his skill in climbing, how- 
ever, and making a mis-step, he fell a distance of 
at least twenty feet. Down he went like a shot 
into a mass of tangled vines. The Beresfords 
heard the changed tone in the yell of their tor- 
mentor and paused. 

“ Where is he ? ” asked Brian, bewildered. 

‘‘ Didn’t you see him fall ? ” 

‘‘ He must be dead.” 

Instead of rushing madly through the ravine 
as they had intended to do at first, Dermot and 


64 


STOBIES OF DUTY. 


Brian made for some stepping-stones they saw 
among the rank vegetation. 

When they reached the other side, they 
found Job lying on the ground, moaning as if all 
the bones in his body were broken. 

‘‘You let me go ! he cried, viciously. “It’s 
just like you fellows, to kick a man when he’s 
down. I didn’t want your old bat, I was only 
fooling.” 

Just at this utterance, a burly man, in shirt 
sleeves and straw hat, rushed from the woods and 
seized Job by the shoulders. 

“ I’ll teach you,” cried the new-comer, “ I’ll 
teach you to let down the bars of my fence, so 
that your cows can get into my corn, and to steal 
my fodder, you young scamp ! ” 

Job yelled with pain. The man shook him 
until Job’s howls filled the wood, and his eyes 
seemed starting from their sockets. 

Bermot noticed a cut on the side of his head. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ that boy has hurt 
himself and you’ve shaken him quite enough, 
you might kill him.” 

“And is it any of your business, if I did ? ” 
asked the farmer. “I’d shake the life out of you 
for half a cent.” 

“ Try it ! ” said Bermot, facing him. The 
farmer was three times Bermot’s size, but he was 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


65 


not afraid. This boy has hurt himself, and 
you’ve no right to whip him now.” 

Haven’t I ? He’s a young thief.” 

We know that,” put in Brian. But you 
shall not shake him again.” Brian, who had 
recovered the bat, brought it down heavily within 
an inch of the farmer’s toe. 

‘‘ You’re the young Romanists up on the hill, 
I suppose,” said the farmer. Well, we’re going 
to make this neighborhood too hot for you, as 
sure as my name’s Jim Windsor.” 

Are you ? ” returned Dermot. ‘‘ Two can 

play at that game. Now ” 

‘‘ Oh, my back — my back ! ” cried Job. ‘‘ I 
can’t get up. Go away all of you.” 

Go away ? you young thief, is that the 
way you speak to me?” And Jim Windsor, 
white with rage, raised his fist, as if he would 
bring it down on the prostrate boy’s head. 

Brian intercepted the blow with the bat. Jim 
Windsor’s arm felt the metal of the boys, as he 
looked at their fine faces. Job, moaning with 
pain, looked anxiously at the three. 

‘^You had better get away,” said Dermot, 
contemptuously. ‘‘ You are worse than a thief, to 
sneer at our religion, and to hurt a boy that can- 
not defend himself. You had better get away.” 
Jim Windsor shook his fist at the boys and 


66 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


went off, muttering that he’d knock the pluck 
out of the pesky Eomanists.” 

And now what are you fellows going to do 
with me?” asked Job, sullenly. ‘‘I expect my 
legs and arms are broken. Mangle me at once 
and get it over .” 

‘‘ Do ? ” cried Dermot, in amazement. “ Do ? 
You must think we’re Pagans ! ” 

‘‘ Of course,” said Job. “ Pop says so. Pop 
says you’re idolaters ! ” 

Brian laughed. 

Dermot looked angry. 

‘‘ We’re going to take you home, of course. 

You can’t walk, can you ? ” 

Are you fooling me? ” 

“ No — not at all. Where do you live ? ” 

‘‘ Down in the Hollow.” 

Try to stand up ! ” 

Oh, I can’t.” 

Job fell down against the rock, ghastly pale. 
Dermot hastily bound his handkerchief 
around the cut on his head. 

‘‘ He can never walk to the Hollow. Hadn’t 
we better take him home, Brian ? ” 

‘‘ All right,” said Brian. 

Their house was in sight, and they knew a 
short-cut. In a second, they had lifted Job be- 
tween them. As gently as possible they carried 


now THEY WORKED THEIR WAY, 


67 


him towards their home. Job groaned and 
moaned piteously ; and, when at last they reach- 
ed the house — of which Dermot had a kej" — he 
had fainted. They laid him on the settee, in the 
kitchen, and then Dermot took the dipper and 
deluged him with water, from the pail that 
always stood on the window sill. After which, 
Job opened his eyes. At first he looked fright- 
ened. Then the sullen expression came back to 
his face. 

Dermot had examined the cut on his head. 
He saw that it was not dangerous. Court-plaster 
would do for that ; he took from his pocket a lit- 
tle packet he carried. lie washed the blood 
and dust from Job’s face, and then applied the 
plaster. 

Job seemed astonished, but kept as quiet as 
he could, only uttering a groan now and then. 
"When Brian ran upstairs and came down again 
with a pillow, which he put under Job’s head, he 
exclaimed — 

‘‘ Well, I’m dog-goned ! ” 

Brian laughed ; for this expressed the utmost 
amazement Job was capable of. 

Dermot ran oflT to tell his father. The rest 
of the family goon appeared. Mrs. Beresford was 
all sympathy. Mr. Beresford looked at Job very 
carefully, and turned him over several times. 


68 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘ Plenty of bruises,” he said but no ser- 
ious damage. The boy is as much frightened as 
hurt His pulse is very high and he seems fever- 
ish, you boys had better carry him into the sit- 
ting-room. Mother will make a bed in there on 
the lounge for him. Brian, you run over to the 
Hollow and tell his people.” 

Don’t,” murmured Job, faintly, there’s 
nobody but Pop, and he is off on a spree. I’ll go 
myself, if you let me. I know you do not want 
me here.” 

Make your mind easy, my boy,” said Mr. 
Beresford, kindly. You are sick and you need 
help, and these are good reasons why we should 
want you here. 

Job looked up at him in a puzzled way. 
After he had been removed to the lounge, he sank 
among the pillows with a sigh of relief. 

Mary brought some lemonade to him. He 
drank it eagerly. He looked around curiously, 
lie examined the little altar of the Blessed Vir- 
gin, in the corner, carefully decked with mari- 
golds, dahlias, and chrysanthemums. He turned 
his eyes towards the piano and asked Mary if she 
could play music. 

“ A little,^’ said Mary. 

I guess you wouldn’t play for me, would 
you?” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


69 


I am afraid it might make you worse.’’ 

I guess not.” 

Mary softly played “ Monastery Bells.” 
When she turned around, Job was asleep. 

At tea, Dermot and Brian related their 
adventure. 

‘‘ So far,” Mr. Beresford said, ‘‘ we have not 
been obliged to come in contact with the people 
around us. Mr. Thorne has stood between us and 
them. I have seen many signs of prejudice 
against us.” 

‘‘ Vulgar wretches ! ” said Dermot. 

‘‘No — don’t get angry, my boy. These peo- 
ple have lived in this quiet little place for a long 
time, with little communication with the outside 
world. They have been brought up from their 
infancy in the opinion that Catholics are ignorant, 
superstitious, blood-thirsty creatures. It is our 
business to teach them that Catholics are Christ- 
ians in the highest sense: so do not let us get 
angry with them. They are ignorant — that is 
all.” 

“ It’s a great deal too much. It makes ’em 
brutal like that Jim Windsor,” said Dermot. 
“ Poor Job ! ” 

“ Poor Job, indeed ! ” cried Brian, “ when he 
gets better he will probably try to steal my bat 
again ! ” 


70 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Well, well,” said Mr. Beresford, ‘‘ we shall 
have to teach him better things while he is here 
by the force of example. I am very much afraiu 
that we shall have a hard road to travel here. But 
I am not afraid that you boys will forget what you 
owe to yourselves and to these people. We must 
make them our friends, since we shall have to 
come in contact with them. We have made a 
good beginning with Job.” 

Have we ? ” said Dermot. I hope we have, 
father, but I don’t believe that these ignorant 
people have any gratitude in them. Why should 
they hate Catholics? ” 

‘‘ Because they do not know them.” 

‘‘ They shall know the size of my fists ! ” cried 
Dermot, warmly. ‘‘ I’m going to knock down 
the first one that insults my religion ! ” 

Dermot believes in knock-down argu- 
ments,” whispered Brian to Mary. 

Mr. Beresfod looked at Dermot reproachfully. 
There are times,” he said, ‘‘ when a boy 
may use his fists and when he ought to use them. 
War is a necessity at times. But we want to teach 
these people that we are Christians. They think 
we are Pagans.” 

I don’t care what they think ! ” 

Dermot ! ” 

Dermot colored under his father’s glance. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


71 


But I say, father,” broke in Brian, we 
didn’t come out here as missionaries ; we came to 
work a farm. Mary is going to make a hospital 
of the place and now you, father, want us to teach 
our neighbors all sorts of things.” 

My dear boy,” Mr. Beresford answered, 
gravely, you can get along better with the love 
and respect of your neighbor than without it, 
can’t you ? ” 

“A fellow whose getting along depends 
wholly on his neighbors must be poor stick.” 

‘‘ Granted. Nevertheless, the best of men must 
at times look to his neighbors for help. Much of 
the good of life escapes, if we live for ourselves 
alone. The Highest Authority teaches us to love 
our neighbor as ourself.” 

‘‘ But, father, that does not mean that we are 
to let those ignorant people walk over us ! ” cried 
Dermot. 

“ God made us for something besides worldly 
gain. Why did he make us, Kathleen ? you told 
us once before, I think.” 

Kathleen, delighted at having been drawn in- 
to the conversation answered quietly — 

‘‘ ‘ God made me that I might know Him, 
love Him, and serve Him in this world, and be 
happy with Him, forever, in the next.’ ” 

‘‘Thank you, Kathleen. Eemember that. 


72 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Dermot. It can be applied to every incident in 
life. Now let’s have some music.” 

The family went into the sitting-room. Job 
was lying wide-awake in the soft light of the 
moon. Mary lit a lamp and asked him, if music 
would hurt his head. 

‘‘No ma’am,” he answered, shyly, and with 
no appearance of sullenness. 

Arthur Morris had sent down some music 
for violin and piano, arranged from various new 
operas. Mary and Brian played a march. Mrs. 
Beresford and Dermot sang, “ Back to our Mount- 
ains,” from “ Trovatore,” 

Job raised himself on his elbow and listened 
attentively. 

^ Gosh ! ” he said, forgetting his shyness, 
“ that’s something like music. I wouldn’t mind 
going to Heaven, if they have music like that 
there. But I don’t want any Sabbath-school sing- 
ing in mine, thank you ! ” 

Kathleen laughed. The others tried not to 
smile. Job relapsed into silence, until the can- 
dles were lit before the Blessed Virgin’s altar, and 
the family knelt to say the rosary. 

Job opened his mouth in amazement. 

“ I don’t like this praying to idols,” he said 
at last, “ and I won’t stand it. You’ve got to stop 
it!” 


HOW THEY WOKKED THEIR WAY. 


73 


Brian, Kathleen, and Dermot, who found it 
always hard to keep from distraction at prayers, 
laughed outright. Mr. Beresford paused a mo- 
ment, and then went on as if nothing had hap- 
pened. 

After they had finished the rosary, Mr. Beres- 
ford sat down beside Job, and asked him if he 
remembered his mother. 

Oh, yes,’’ Job said. I wouldn’t be the boy 
I am, if she had lived. I’d be as well kept and 
as slick as any of your boys. She was an angel. 
Pop’s spreeing just broke her heart.” 

What would you do, if you had a picture of 
her ? ” 

What would I do ? I’d just love to have a 
picture of her. But I haven’t got one, so there’s 
no use talking about it.” 

‘‘You would take good care of it, wouldn’t 
you ? ” 

“ That’s a foolish question. Of course I 
would, and put it in a gilt frame, and be glad to 
do it.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Beresford, “that’s just 
what we’re doing. That statue there is the repre- 
sentation of the Blessed Mother of Our Lord. 
She is His Mother and our Mother. We honor 
Him in honoring her.” 


74 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Do you mean to tell me your not worship- 
ping a graven image ? ” 

‘‘ Do you mean to say that the paying of re- 
spect to the Blessed Mother of God as represented 
by a statue, is idolatry ? Do you mean to say that 
it would be idolatry for you to revere your mo- 
ther’s picture ; or to say your prayers before the 
picture of one in Heaven, and to ask for prayers? ” 
You’ve got me there !” he said. He turned 
his face to the wall and was silent. Then he went 
to sleep. 

Job was quiet and as respectful as he could be, 
during the three days he stayed in the Beresfords’ 
house. 

Kathleen had lessons from her mother and 
Mary in the sitting-room, every morning. Job 
listened in wonder. He was particularly interes- 
ted in the Catechism lessons. Catechism was 
Kathleen’s strong point. And she was very glad 
to show otf her accomplishments for Job’s benefit. 

There were two questions in the first chapter 
which Kathleen, through some strange bent in 
her mind, always mixed up; so she had Job 
“ hear ” her these questions in season and out of 
season. 

a ‘Why must we take more care of our souls 
than of our bodies ? ’” he would suddenly ask, to 
Mr. Beresford’s astonishment. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


75 


Kathleen would begin — 

To save our souls we must ’’ 

Ko, no ! That’s not it ! ” 

‘“We must take more care ’ ” began Job. 

Oh, yes,” Kathleen would retort, recover- 
gni the last thread, ‘‘ we must take more care of 
our souls than of our bodies, because, ‘ what doth 
it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and 
lose his own soul ? ’ There ! ” 

“ No, ‘ St. Matt. ’ ” 

“ Oh, yes, ‘ St. Matthew, xvi. 26.’ ” 

That’s all very well,” Job said once. “But, 
for all that, you pray to images. I’ve heard our 
minister say so.” 

“ Ask me this question,” said Kathleen, 
gravely. It’s on page sixty : ‘ May we, then, 
pray to relics and images ? ’ ” 

“ All right,” said Job, reading the question 
‘“We are not to pray to relics or images, 
for they have no life or sense to hear or help us.’. 
There!” 

Job only grunted. 

Nobody came to see him while he was ill, 
except the Baptist minister, who was polite, but 
reserved to the Beresfords, and who sang a hymn 
with Job. 

The day after this visit, Job said he would 
leave. He said good-bye, in a bashful way, and 


76 


STORIES OF DUTY 


went out without a word of thanks. But he 
came back after a while, and, putting his head 
through the kitchen door-way, cried out — 

I’ll knock anybody down that says you 
ain’t good people, Miss Beresford.” 

Then he shot away like an arrow. 

The family laughed very much over what 
they called Job’s conversion.” 

Dermot was still indignant against the neigh- 
borhood. He had met Jim Windsor on the road, 
and Jim had yelled from the top of a load of hay 
at him, in an insulting way. 

I’ll teach this ignorant rabble better man- 
ners,” he cried. 

My dear Dermot,” his father said, ‘‘ don’t 
get angry. Let us make friends of these people, 
by kindness and a little patience. They are all 
Americans, and, therefore, not entirely unreason- 
able. Good example on our part will do more 
for us and for them, than fisticuffs or long argu- 
ments. American prejudice against the Church 
and against ‘ Eomanists ’ is more quickly dissipa- 
ted, the more closely we follow the teachings of 
the Church.” 

I’d like to take a horsewhip to ’em,” Der- 
mot said. 

His father made no answer. He felt sure 
that Dermot would gradually get right. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


77 


The Dorans came — Dick, good-natured and 
pleased, but not quite strong yet ; Anna willing 
to help in every way, and quite able to do so. 

Dermot was not pleased at their coming. He 
was polite to both of them ; but he felt that, in 
addition to the privations of poverty" and the loss 
of his prospects, the dislike of his neighbors and 
daily toil, it was another aflBiiction to have stran- 
gers constantly with them. 

Dick gradually recovered his strength in the 
pure air. He took to farm work, and in a few 
months he could do twice as much as Dermot, and 
quite as much as Brian. 

On one sad day, Mr. Beresford did not get up 
to breakfast. He was never well again. In spite of 
country air and constant exercise, consumption 
held him in bondage. The hectic flush in his 
cheeks was like that glow which lights up the 
maples, just before they are crumpled and browned 
by the wintry blasts. 

How Anna Doran’s skill as a nurse came into 
use. Dick, too, was very kind. He made Dermot 
stay upstairs and read to his father, while he 
undertook to do Dermot’s usual work. 

Dermot spent much time in his father’s room. 
Mr. Beresford showed the greatest anxiety to im- 
prove Dermot’s education ; and, during those 
hours of the morning, when Mr. Beresford could 


78 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


exert himself at all, he studied hard under his 
father’s direction. 

Mrs. Beresford was very glad of this. If 
Dermot could only get a good education, he might 
yet become a priest. This was the hope of her 
life. Mrs. Beresford learned to thank God for the 
inspiration that had induced her to take the 
Dorans into the family. In this time of trouble, 
their kindness was most acceptable. 

Dick had lessons every morning from Dermot ; 
and Anna from Mary, under Mrs. Beresford’s 
direction. 

They all thought that Mr. Beresford would 
never get up from his bed, although the doctor said 
that he might linger for, perhaps, a year. 

Still, the winter was a very cheerful one. Mr. 
Beresford was very sweet and gentle. In the win- 
ter evenings, the children, including Dick and 
Anna, gathered around a big round table in his 
room and spent an hour in study. 

After that there was pleasant and often in- 
structive conversation. 

The wood fire in the grate burned brightly, 
and sent out a fitful glow on the faces around it. 

Kathleen and Anna were cracking nuts in a 
corner. Dermot was puzzling over a passage in 
Caesar. Brian was trying to make a basket of 
fir cones. Mrs. Beresford had been reading aloud. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


79 


from “ Fabiola,’’ but had laid the book down on 
her lap. Mary was darning stockings — against 
the household rule, that the evening should be 
devoted entirely to recreation and study. Dick 
was making a fire-screen for Mrs. Beresford. This 
piece of art was approaching completion. It was 
much admired. Dick had found a broken clothes- 
horse in the cellar. Having carefully mended it, 
he covered it with thick brown paper, and after- 
ward with black glazed paper. On this he had 
pasted very carefully all the bright pictures he 
could get. The children ransacked all their stories 
of Christmas numbers of the London Graphic^ etc., 
for pictures. The centre was a large colored pic- 
ture of the Madonna of San Sisto, which Mary 
had cut from The Illustrated Catholic American^ and 
tinted it from her own water-color box. It is sup- 
posed that Mrs. Beresford was unaware of the des- 
tination of this work of art; but, considering 
that whispered consultations were going on near 
her all the time, she must have known all about 
it. However, she pretended not to notice it. Dick 
was in the act of pasting on it a wreath of yellow 
pansies. 

It’s not so bad to be poor, after all,” said 
Dermot, lazily biting a russet apple. In spite 
of hard work, I’ve never had a better time in my 
life.” 


80 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ Poor ! ” exclaimed Dick. ‘‘ Do you call 
yourselves poor? They do not know what real 
poverty is, do they, Anna ? ’’ 

“ indeed ! ’’ cried Anr.a. Some people 
do not know where they can get to-morrow’s 
breakfast. Do you remember.” she asked, turn- 
ing to Mary, “ how very poor some people are — 
too poor to have even a white frock.” 

Mary smiled and patted Anna on the shoul- 
der. 

‘‘ Ah, no,” said Mrs. Beresford, “ you are rich, 
children, in all that makes life worth living.” She 
paused, as she looked at Mr. Beresford, who lay 
very quiet with his eyes closed. ‘‘Yet we have 
every reason to thank our dear Lord.” 

“ I think we are very happy here,” Anna 
said. She had, by her sweetness of disposition 
and growing refinement, earned her place as one 
of the family. “ In summer the work is hard ; 
but there are times of rest in the winter, and then 
it is not the grinding work that wears out body 
and mind, such as poor people in the city have to 
do. I am afraid that the peace is too great to 
last.” 

“ So am 1 1 ” said Dick, lifting up his red-head 
and good-humored face from behind the screen. 

Dcrmot pushed away his book, impatiently. 

“ Oh, I do wish something would happen ! It 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


81 


is monotonous here/’ he said, half unconsciously, 
and then, blushing as he caught the full sense of 
his own words, he added apologetically. ‘‘You 
know I like to be with you all ; but it is hard on a 
fellow not to have any prospects of doing his best 
in life ! I do wish something would happen.” 

Mr. Beresford looked at Dermot thoughtfully. 
Mrs. Beresford took Dermot’s hand in sympathy, 

“ Something has happened,” she said, gently. 
“ Your father will tell you what.” 

“ Give me that letter from the bureau, dear,” 
Mr. Beresford said. 

Mrs. Beresford gave him the letter. 

“ Thank you. This is a letter from Byrnes 
& Stoughton, lawyers, in New York — both old 
friends of mine — offering to take you into their 
office, if I will send you there. Do you want to 
go?” 

Dermot’s face flushed with pleasure. 

“ Oh, father ! ” he said. This was the real- 
ization of his dream. 

“ Of course,” continued Mr. Beresford, “ this 
would have been impossible, if Dick were not here 
to take your place. But, as Dick don’t want to 
leave us ” 

“Oh, no ! ” cried Dick, with a look of bright 
affection towards Mr. Beresford. 


82 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


And as he seems to take to farm life more 
than you do ” 

‘‘ Oh, yes ! ’’ cried Dick. 

‘‘ I shall promise Byrnes & Stoughton that 
you shall go to them.’’ 

‘‘ But,” said Dermot, timidly, ‘‘you will have 
to pay my board, father ? ” 

“ Partly,” answered Mr. Beresford. “ Byrnes 
& Stoughton will pay you a small sum — equal to 
about half your expenses — and I shall be able to 
pay the rest, I hope.” 

Dermot went over to his father, buried his 
face in the bedclothes, and cried. 

It was such a great kindness ! And to know 
that his father was, in spite of his illness, think- 
ing so much of him ! He knew that that dear 
father would get well. He must get well. 

The rest of the family were saddened by the 
news. It seemed like a great break in the happy 
circle, of which Dermot was the only discontented 
member. 

Dermot saw the gloom of the family. 

“ I had a fight to-day,” he said, his spirits 
rising, “ with that bully, Jim Windsor. He was 
driving alopg the road on a big load of wood. 
One of his horses lost a shoe going down the hill, 
and he called out to me, ‘Bring me that shoe, will 
you, young fellow?’ I would have done it for 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


83 


anyone else, but I wouldn’t for Jim Windsor, so 
I said, get down and pick it up j’ourself. I saw 
that he couldn’t, for it was as much as he could 
do to hold his horses going downhill. He called 
me names and shook his whip at me. I remem- 
bered who he was and paid no attention to him.” 

‘‘ That was wrong,” Mr. Beresford said. 
‘‘Windsor’s a bully, because he does not know 
any better. You ought to have taught him some- 
thing, by returning good for evil.” 

Dermot looked uneasy. Then he said — 

“You did that with Job Fitts and it didn’t 
come to any good.” 

“ It was right, it was Christian to do as we 
did. One must be kind, whether it ‘ pays ’ in the 
sense of bringing gratitude to us or not. I know 
very well that one must keep up one’s self-respect, 
and resist encroachments on one’s rights ; but 
there is a way of doing that, without being 
churlish or unchristian. You saw that Jim 
Windsor was in ‘ a tight place ’ — as Brian says — 
but you would not help him out.” 

“ I knew how tight the place was — that’s the 
reason I did not help him out. He couldn’t get 
down from his wagon to get the shoe, you see, 
because he had hard enough work to keep his 
horses from sliding downhill.” 

“ I am ashamed of you, Dermot.” 


84 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Dermot turned uneasily in his chair. 

I hate the whole crowd of them ! ’’ he cried. 

They go to their churches and listen to their 
ministers, often ignorant people, abusing the Pope 
and Catholics, and think they are Christians be- 
cause they hate the Church ! ’’ 

Mr. Beresford smiled. 

‘‘ And you, my dear boy, say every morning 
and night, ‘ forgive us our trespasses as we for- 
give them who trespass against us,’ but you go 
on hating these people. For myself, Dermot, I 
think that you, who are not ignorant, who have 
been well instructed, who have had all the great 
privileges of the Church, will have more to an- 
swer for, than these poor people who sneer at 
Catholics, not knowing what they do.” 

Dermot hung his head, but said — 

‘‘ I shall be glad to be away from them.” 

Besides,” continued his father, let us 
look at things in a practical way. To have 
friends, one must be friendly. The world looks 
on us with the eyes we look on it. "\Ye might be 
Mormons, but, provided we are ‘ neighborly’ ’ these 
people would grow friendly to us. There is noth- 
ing that overcomes the prejudices of Americans 
so easily, as good actions and good example in 
the every-day transactions of life.” 

Listen ! ” said Kathleen, suddenly. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


85 


Cats ! ” cried Brian. 

There was a sound at the door. 

Dick opened it and looked out. He heard 
nothing but the wind among the trees. There 
was an interval of silence. Then another sound, 
as of a slight knock at the door. Dermot went 
this time. Still, nobody was in sight. He thought 
he saw a head visible among the lilac bushes, 
at the side of the house ; he made a bound for- 
ward, and returned dragging Job Fitts. 

What do you mean, you young rascal ! ” he 
exclaimed. 

I thought your father would have come,’^ 
he said. ‘‘ I want to see him.^^ 

‘‘ Well, come in and don’t be dodging around 
like a wild beast.” 

Job entered the warm, cheerful sitting-room. 
Mr. Beresford held out his hand, kindly. But 
Job seemed too astonished by the change in him, 
to speak. He walked awkwardly up to Mr. Beres- 
ford’s bedside, and shook hands. 

Did you want to see me. Job ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Job. ‘‘ But I can’t say what I 
want to say, because I promised I wouldn’t open 
my lips about it. I’ll be obliged if you’ll let me 
have a pencil and a sheet of paper.” 

Mary brought them. 

Job laboriously wrote some words on the 


86 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


paper, folded it, gave it to Mr. Beresford and 
darted from the room. They heard the front door 
slam after him. 

Mr. Beresford opened the paper and read — 

i take my pen in hand to let you know that 
jim Windsor and his gang will burn your barn 
to-night.’’ 

Nonsense,” said Mrs. Beresford. 

Not nonsense, at all,” said her husband, 
“ after Dermot’s treatment of Windsor, it is prob- 
able he will take some revenge.” 

He can’t be so bad as that,” said Mrs. Beres- 
ford. 

“ Well, what’s to be done ? ” asked Brian. 

‘‘We shall have to stay up on guard.” 

“ Certainly, Dermot,” said Dick. 

Mr. Beresford sighed. He was not anxious 
to trust the defense of his barn to these three. 
But he was helpless. He turned to Dick. 

“ Dick,” he said, “ as the oldest and wisest, 
I rely on you.” 

“ Very well, sir.” 

The barn was not insured. Should it be 
burnt, the family would sufler grievous loss. 

Dick went out at once and fitted a long hose 
to the iron pump. Dermot and Brian examined 
the fastenings of the barn. Then they gathered 


HOW they worked their way. 


87 


a pile of big stones and put them in a dark cor- 
ner, ready to be used against the intruders. 

I don’t think they’ll try such a mean thing,” 
said Brian, “ I imagine Job Fitts was frightened 
into believing it.” 

Dick shook his head. 

We’d better prepare for the worst.” 

The only weapons in the house were Mr. 
Beresford’s old-fashioned pistol, and Dermot’s 
gun. It was decided that ’Dick, in virtue of his 
age and discretion, should have the pistol. 

Mrs. Beresford and the girls, after their first 
fright, knelt down and said the rosary, as the 
only means of not losing control of themselves. 

Later, they were persuaded to go to their 
rooms, but not to sleep. Kathleen was the one 
exception. Nothing could keep her awake. 

The boys hid behind the fence, near the barn. * 
The fence-gate stood near the narrow path that 
led up to the barn. Nobody could approach the 
barn, except by way of the path. 

Eleven o'clock passed. Twelve. One. 

Dermot, who felt sleepy and cold, began to 
laugh at the others for believing Job’s nonsense 

‘‘ Keep quiet and wait,” said Dick. 

At this time, the country around was white 
in the moonlight. 


88 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Brian fell asleep, liis head on a fence-rail. 

He raised himself, suddenly. He had ears 
like a hare. 

"Was that a breaking branch ? ’’ 

Hist ! ” whispered Dick. 

Three men were slowly creeping up the path. 

One struck a match. 

He spoke in a low, but distinct tone — 

‘‘ The matches are all right. I was around 
here to-day, and I poured some kerosene into the 
pig-sty. There is a small can of it under the 
hen-house. I left it there. By George ! the 
blaze will surprise that fool that wouldn’t help 
me to-day — the mean-spirited Eomanist ! ” 

It was Jim Windsor’s voice. 

The men crept, in Indian file, slowly and 
quietly towards the hen-house. 

The boys each seized a large stone, and 
waited until the men were quite out of the shad- 
ows. When they were full in the light, Dick 
raised his finger. 

‘‘ You get the kerosene, Abe,” Windsor said, 
to one of his followers, ‘‘ and we’ll set the fire 
going on the windward side.” 

‘‘ It’s a nasty job, and I don’t like it.” said 
Abe# ‘‘ These folks were mighty good to young 
Fitts.” 

‘‘ That’s all very well, but I’m bound to get 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


89 


even with that young upstart. I’ll make him pay 
for his impudence, and if you don’t choose to join 
me, you can count me out when you want me to 
do you a turn.” 

Abe grumbled. 

Just then, Dick raised three finger:^. The 
boys obeyed the signal as musicians obey the 
baton of a musical conductor. Instantly, each 
raised his arm with a will. There was a howl 
from the path. Dick sent one big stone after 
another in quick succession. Dermot and Brian 
followed his example. Two of the men ran off 
across the fields as quickly as they could. 

One lay in the path, groaning piteously. 

The boys went up to him. They recognized 
Jim Windsor, ghastly pale, with a large cut on 
his forehead. He looked up and recognized 
Dermot. 

‘‘ Don’t shoot me,” he said, don’t shoot ! ’ 

Dermot gave his gun to Dick. 

^‘I am not going to shoot,” he said. Are 
you much hurt ? ” 

‘‘ Just as much as you could hurt me.” 

‘‘Well, we don’t kick men when they’re down. 
We’ll help you to the house, and let the law take 
care of you after that.” 

Jim made no answer. Dick stooped over him 
and saw that he had fainted. 


90 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘Well, boj^s/’ he said, “we’ll have to carry 
this big bully.” 

They lifted him, and, with some difficulty, 
carried him into the house. 

“ Our house seems to be an hospital for the 
country.” Dermot said. 

Brian laughed ; and then he said, a little 
nervously — 

“ I hope they will not come back.” 

“ JSTo fear,” said Dick. 

Jim Windsor was laid on the floor, in the 
kitchen. A dash of cold water soon revived him. 

Dick held the lantern so that the light of 
the bull’s-eye shown directly into his face. 

He opened his eyes, passed his hand over 
his forehead and muttered — 

“ Where am I ? ” 

Before replying, Dick dexterously knotted 
his hands and feet together, with a rope. The big 
bully was unable to move. 

“ Where am I,” he repeated, trying to rise. 

“ In our house,’^ said Dermot, “ but if you 
had your deserts, you would be swimming for 
your life in the river.” 

The only answer was a growl. 

“ I think we’d better harness the horse, and 
drive this fellow up to the magistrate’s,” said 
Dick. “ What do you say, Brian ? ” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


91 


lie may bleed to death.’’ 

‘‘ He’ll never die of bleeding,” said Dick, 
significantly. 

Windsor tried to kick. 

What do you mean,” he asked, ‘‘ by knock- 
ing a fellow down when he’s doing nothing ? ” 

‘‘We know where the kerosene is, and we 
know who Abe is, too,” said Dermot. 

“ Well, what are you going to do ? ” 

“ Give you up to the law. You will soon find 
out what barn-burning means.” 

“ Don’t do that,” Windsor replied, his face 
growing whiter. “ It would kill my old mother 
to know her son was in prison.” 

“ You did not think of the distress you would 
have put us in, if you had burned our barn, and 
father sick, too.” 

Jim Windsor said nothing. 

“ You’d better make up your mind to suffer 
the consequences.” 

Windsor shuddered. 

“ I’ll give you the horses you saw me driving 
the other day, if you let me off. I would not have 
thought of it, if you had not made me mad by 
your superciliousness.” 

“ You’ve talked against us ever since we came 
here.” 

“Well — didn’t you tell everybody that we 


92 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


were all an ignorant set here ? We thought Irish 
Romanists were inclined to ride a high horse over 
us, and we found out it was true. YouVe never 
had a good word for anybody — I Ve nothing to say 
against the family ; they didn’t have much to say ; 
but I guess they thought like you.” 

“ We’ll have to consult father before we take 
him to the court-house,” Dermot said. ‘^You, 
Brian, go and see if he is awake.” 

He was awake and very anxious. He was sit- 
ting up in bed. 

“ Bring the man up here,” he said, when 
Dermot had finished his story. 

Dermot started in amazement. 

We can’t carry him, and we’ve tied his legs.” 

Untie them and let him come.” 

Dermot saw, by the look in his father’s eyes 
that he must obey. 

Mr. Beresford sank back in bed. The light 
from the lamp by his bedside fell on his pale face, 
and on the large crucifix nailed against the wall. 
Mrs. Beresford, who had gone out to quiet the 
frightened girls, came in. 

Dick took out his pistol, when Mr. Beres- 
ford’s message was given to him, and untied the 
ropes. 

Windsor marched sullenly upstairs, with the 
boys following him. He hesitated to enter the 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


93 


room, starting back at the sight of Mr. Beresford’s 
white face. 

‘‘ Come in,’’ Mr. Beresford said. 

Dermot pushed past Windsor, and the four 
entered the room. Mr. Beresford looked at 
Windsor with feverishly bright eyes. 

‘‘ I didn’t know you were so sick ; or I wouldn’t 
have done it,” Windsor began ; then, catching sight 
of the crucifix, which he had only seen before in 
pictures of the Inquisition, he stopped, with a look 
of what seemed to be fear in his eyes. 

‘‘Don’t be afraid,” said Mr. Beresford, with 
a gentle smile, “ that is the representation of Our 
Lord whom you have offended to-night. But lie 
can forgive you, and I will not do less than try to 
forgive you.” 

“ Mr. Beresford,” said Jim Windsor, “ I don’t 
want to hear any talk. I know I’m in your power 
and I’ve done what I wouldn’t have done in cold 
blood, if I had thought much about it. I suppose 
the disgrace of being sent to prison will drive my 
old mother to the grave ; but I don’t suppose you 
care about that. I was drunk to-night, and it made 
me mad to think of how your son here had laughed 
at me, so I said to Abe Jenkins, we’ll burn out the 
Papists’ nest. Enough said. I don’t want to hear 
any talk about religion. It’s bad enough to be in 
a scrape without being talked to about it.” Wind- 


94 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


sor cast his eyes down sullenly, and put his hand 
up to his bandaged head. That knock sobered 
me. I’d give all I’m worth to be out of this box. 
The farm will go to ruin, if I go to jail, and what’s 
to become of my old mother I don’t know.” 
His voice choked ; he stamped his foot energetic- 
ally, as if ashamed of his emotion. ‘‘Well, let’s get 
the Avorst over. There’s no use standing here.” 

“ Windsor,” said Mr. Beresford, “ you don’t 
like Catholics ? ” 

“ I haven’t much reason to, have I ? ” answer- 
ed Windsor, with a jerk of his elbow towards the 
boys. 

“You’ve gotten Job Fitts’ father into bad 
ways lately, haven’t you ? ” 

“It’s none of your business. Job’s father 
wouldn’t drink so much, if it wasn’t for me. I’ll 
admit that.” 

The boys wondered what this was leading to. 

“ I want you to promise you will not drink at 
the tavern with old Fitts, and that you’ll encour- 
age him to save his money and live like a Christ- 
ian.” 

Windsor laughed hoarsely. 

“ Your father’s gone crazy,” he said, turning 
to the boys. “ I’ll not have much chance to drink 
in jail.” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


95 


‘‘ But, if we agree to let you off, and to keep 
quiet ? 

Windsor looked at the white face on the pil- 
low, in amazement. 

“ Does he mean it, boys ? 

“ I suppose he does,” said Dermot, with some 
dissatisfaction in his tone. 

‘‘ I’ll promise anything,” said Windsor, ear- 
nestly, ‘‘ if you’ll let me off and I’ll 6ay,Beresford, 
that you’ll never regret it. I’ll say that you are a 
Christian, if you are a Catholic.” 

‘‘ They’re the same thing, neighbor. I can’t 
look at the crucifix without wanting to forgive 
you. You can go now. We’ll keep quiet — all 
of us. But I say, Windsor, I want you to help 
Fitts, and, if I die, I hope you’ll do the children 
a good turn, if you can.” 

Windsor turned away. Tears rushed to his 
eyes. He shook the boys’ hands, and made an 
awkward bow to Mrs. Beresford. 

‘‘I haven’t deserved this,” his voice broke. 
He went towards the door. ‘‘ I didn’t expect it. 
Hobody else around here would have done it.” 

He went out onto the landing. He came back 
and put his head through the door-way. 

If your cross makes you do this sort of 
thinff, I’ll put up one myself. Don’t be uneasy 
about Fitts.” 


96 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


He went down the stairs as gently as he could, 
and they heard him close the front gate. 

“ He’s a dangerous man,’’ said Dermot. 

We’ve turned him,” answered his father. 
‘‘We’ve had the best revenge any man can take. 
Good-night, boys. Jim Windsor will not try to 
burn another barn.” 

The boj^s said good-night. Mr. Beresford 
had done a bold thing. They would have given 
Windsor up to the law. But in consultation, 
they — even including Dermot — admitted that Mr. 
Beresford had made a friend, and perhaps, a better 
man of Windsor. 

“ After all,” said Dick, thoughtfully, “ if we 
make better men of ourselves and of our neigh- 
bors, we fulfill the greatest of the commandments. 
We show that we love Him, and that we love 
them.” 

“ Don’t preach,” answered Brian, yawning, 
and going into his room. “ Father is a good Cath- 
olic and no mistake.” 

After this, there was a change in the attitude 
of the people to the Beresfords. Job Fitts’ word 
did not go for much, but in the discussions at the 
village grocery store, Jim Windsor’s went for a 
great deal. Whenever the subject of religion 
came up, Windsor always said a good word for 
Catholics in his own way. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


97 


‘‘I don’t care for what the Catholics used 
to be. I suppose they have been good, bad, and 
indifferent. I take ’em as I find ’em, and I don’t 
want to know any better people than the Beres- 
fords.” 

This had its effect. The little neighborly 
ofiices, which Mrs. Beresford had hitherto been 
pained to miss, were given. 

Mrs. Thorne was not afraid to run over ,” 
with a particularly nice dish of pudding, or some- 
thing of that kind, and very often, other house- 
wives in the vicinity came. Opinion had changed. 

Even Dermot began to ser 'hat the policy of 
forgiveness, was better than chat of defiance. 
Rails were not so often taken out of the fences, 
and the cows let into other fields, where they 
ought not to have gone. The boys were treated 
civily at the village store. 

The neighbors, having once become acquainted 
with Mrs. Beresford, acquired a habit of ‘‘dropping 
in” to see her. The women regretted that “poor 
Mrs. Beresford,” could not take part in their 
“ church sociables.” Job’s father paid the Beres- 
fords a visit one day. He had not been drinking 
too much for some time. He nodded to Mrs. 
Beresford, and said he had come to see “ what 
sort of people Job’s admirations were.” 

“I tell you, ma’am,” he said, “that boy is 


98 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


never tired of talking about you and your family. 
It’s not everybody that would have been so kind. 
The poor boy needed it.” 

“ And the poor boy needs it,” Mrs. Beresford 
answered, noticing Mr. Fitts’ red nose and watery 
eyes, “ you ought to be kind to him yourself. 
Why don’t you try to give him a good home ? ” 
I’m a poor, weak mortal,” said Mr. Fitts, 
beginning to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief. 

I never was much to work ; but I have ideas. 
I’m full of ideas.” 

‘‘ You ought to cultivate good ideas, and put 
them into practice.” 

“ I was never much to work,” repeated Mr. 
Fitts, disconsolately. “ Job’s mother, she was the 
worker. But she died.” 

A scornful reply was on Mrs. Beresford’s lips, 
but she suppressed it. She remembered the doc- 
trine she had been preaching to Dermot. 

Brian and Dick came in, and were introduced 
to Mr. Fitts. 

Good boys, I suppose,” he said. “ Are they 
both yours ? ” 

‘‘ One is mine, the other has been adopted,” 
said Mrs. Beresford, with a genial smile at Dick. 

‘‘ I wish my boy was as healthy-looking, and 
as well dressed,” said Mr. Fitts, with a sigh. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


9S 


“ Why don’t you look after him ? ” said Dick. 

“ If you did not drink so much ” 

“ Hush ! ” said Mrs. Bcx^sford. 

Job Fitts’ father wiped his eyes with the 
back of his hand. 

wsis never much of a hand to work.” 
Then he added, after a pause, made to give his 
hearers an opportunity to express sympathy. I 
haven’t drank anything nigh into a month. Jim 
Windsor said he would smash my head, if he 
caught me drinking.” 

Good for Jim Windsor,” said Brian. 

Mother, Dick’s had an idea.” 

I’m full of ideas, but I was never a great 
hand to work,” murmured Mr. Fitts. 

Dick wants to plant celery and asparagus,” 
said Brian, enthusiastically. ‘‘ His uncle has got 
back from Ireland, and has taken a stand in a 
market, at Philadelphia, and he wrote to Dick, 
and Dick wrote to him, and then Dick asked him 
to buy things from us. Dick’s uncle said he 
wanted celery and asparagus.” 

‘‘ And cauliflower,” added Dick, his face 
glowing with pleasure. ‘‘ He says he’ll give ui 
twelve hundred dollars for an acre of good cauli- 
flowei, next year. I just got his letter. The 
asparagus will take three years to grow. I under- 
stand all about celery-growing.” 


100 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Mrs. Beresford smiled. She was glad to see 
Dick and Brian so much interested in the farm 
work. 

The hoys went upstairs to consult with Mr. 
Beresford. Job Fitts’ father asked if he might 
go, too. Mrs. Beresford politely assented. 

Mr. Beresford said, after listening to the boys, 
that they had better plant the cauliflower in Feb- 
ruary. He gathered, from Mr. Devlin’s letter — 
Mr. Devlin was Dick’s uncle, who had come back 
from Ireland, after a short stay there- ^ hat the 
cauliflower was most in demand. 

“ One thing at a time,” Mr. Beresford said, 
smiling. ‘‘You will need to sow them at once, 
and keep them through the winter.” 

“ No, that will not do,” interrupted Job Fitts’ 
father. 

Brian shrugged his shoulders, and Dick 
laughed, with some contempt in his voice. 

Let him go on,” said Mr. Beresford. “Why 
not, Mr. Fitts ? ” 

“ I’m chock full of ideas,” said Mr. Fitts, 
“but I’m not much on work. I’ll tell you, Mr. 
Beresford, that if you plant cauliflower now, the 
plants will not live even under glass. You’d 
have to keep ’em covered with straw, and even 
then they would not live.” 

“ When would you plant them ? ” 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


101 


111 February — that’s your time. You’d 
better put ’em down in the hollow, near the 
spring. It’s always cool there, and cauliflower 
lives best in coolness. It is not like cabbage.” 

Thank you, Mr. Fitts; we’ll need some 
help. It’s too late to begin with the celery.” 

‘^You’re right,” said Mr. Fitts. 

Dick and Brian were surprised at Mr. Fitts’ 
knowledge of farming. Afterwards, Mr. Beres- 
ford told them that they ought not to despise a 
man, because he seemed incapable. 

‘‘We got a valuable hint from Mr. Fitts, al- 
though he seemed very stupid. It’s just as foolish 
to judge a book by its cover, as a man by his coat.” 

Mr. Beresford asked Job’s father to stay to 
dinner. 

Mr. Fitts appeared to improve visibly, under 
the influence of kindness. It was evident, from 
his talk, that he knew a good deal about farming. 

As he was going away, he said — 

“ How would you like us to come and work 
for you ? I’m not much on work, but Job is. He’d 
work for you.” 

“ I’ll think about it,” Dick answered, “ and 
ask Mr. Beresford.” 

Dick had quietly taken charge of things since 
Mr. Beresford had become ill. Brian felt his 
superiority in every-day work and gladly took his 


102 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


advice. Mr. Beresforcl,on hearing Mr. Fitts’ prop- 
osition, laughed. We’ll see what we can do, 
later.” 

The winter glided by. The family at the 
farm — ‘‘ Beresfords’ ” as the neighbors called the 
place — found plenty of amusement and occupa- 
tion, no work was ever done at night. Sometimes, 
Mr. Beresford was well enough to be helped down- 
stairs. There was an extra concert on these gala 
nights. 

By this time, the Beresfords’ neighbors had 
become unusually friendly. Little delicacies were 
sent to Mr. Beresford, and occasionally, an old 
farmer or his wife would drop in to see the 
‘‘ images,” and talk of their enormity. They were 
astonished to find that, even the young Beresfords 
had read the Bible, and that they could quote 
Scripture in defense of their faith. 

It was the general verdict throughout the 
neighborhood, that Catholics might not be so bad, 
after all. And many were the religious discussions 
that arose out of the presence of the Beresfords 
there. 

Father Hogan, whose church was some distance 
away, came over to spend two days with the Beres- 
fords. He said Mass one morning, and all the 
family received the Blessed Eucharist. 

It happened that Job Fitts had been sent over 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


103 


to bring some seed, sent by Mr. Thorne. He 
stood, staring and open-mouthed, while the Mass 
proceeded. When Brian rang the little bell at 
the consecration, and they all knelt devoutly. 
Job prostrated himself, too. 

‘‘ I can’t tell why I did it,” he said, after- 
wards. ‘‘ It seemed as if I had to.” 

Father Hogan patted Job on the head ; al- 
though he shrank from him at first, as if he were 
a wild animal. 

There was not much to do that day. Dick 
and the young folks spent the morning in discus- 
sing a grand concert, for the evening, in honor of 
Father Hogan. 

‘‘Why should not we ask some of the people 
near us ? ” asked Mr. Beresford, when Dermot 
and Mary came to discuss some knotty point with 
him. “ There is plenty of space in the sitting- 
room.” 

Father Hogan, who was sitting near Mr. 
Beresford’s bed, smiled at the suggestion. 

“ They would not come,” he said. “ They 
would not enter a Catholic house, especially, if a 
priest were here.” 

“We ought to try to get them to come.” 
Then Mr. Beresford told Father Hogan their ex- 
perience. 

“ Good example is the best softener of the 


104 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


prejudices of the people around. Preaching and 
arguments are in vain, if one does not practice. 
Ask some of your neighbors, by all means/’ said 
the priest, gravely. 

Dermot did not like the idea. The others were 
pleased with it. Brian and Mary drove out in 
the wagon, to invite the families near them. 
Mary enjoyed the excitement of the event, just as 
much as she would one of Alice Howe’s grand 
parties. Dermot reluctantly promised to write 
the programmes. Still, since he had seen the 
change in the neighbors’ feelings, wrought by the 
policy of conciliation, he had begun to feel that 
he must have been wrong. 

Chairs and benches were collected and placed 
in the sitting-room, which was festooned with 
evergreens and the paper flowers which Anna 
Doran had taught Kathleen to make. Mrs. Beres- 
ford resolved to serve coffee, cakes, apples, and 
cider, during a pause in the concert. 

Father Hogan entered into the spirit of the 
festivity. In spite of his cassock, he cut down 
more evergreens than either Dermot or Dick. 
Mr. Beresford, listening to the reports of the 
workers, almost seemed to be well again. 

“ Dear me ! ” said Daphne Higgins, who lived 
on a thrifty farm down in the Hollow. Dear 
me ! ” she said, as her husband came in at noon. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


105 


‘‘ What do you think, Josh. The Beresfords are 
going to have a concert to-night, and weVe got an 
invite. ’’ 

‘‘ You don’t mean to go, Daph,” said Josh, 
raising his head from the basin, in which he was 
washing his face. “ The priest’s going to be 
there.” 

‘‘Well, I am going. Josh, priest or no priest. 
I wouldn’t hurt Mrs. Beresford’s feelings for the 
world. Nobody knows how kind she was to our 
Lib, when she was sick. I’m not afraid of the 
priest. If everybody was as good as the Beres- 
fords, I wish there were more priests.” Daphne 
looked around uneasily as she spoke, as if she felt 
that she was making a shocking admission. 

“I’m not finding fault. You needn’t snap 
mj^head off,” answered Josh. “We’ll go — I like 
the Beresfords, if they are Romanists.’^ 

The rumor of the Beresfords’ concert set the 
neighborhood in a flutter of excitement. Mr. 
Thorne and Mrs. Thorne announced their intention 
of going, but Miss Sabina Thorne wept. Her 
new silk gown was not made yet, and she said she 
would not go to the house of such “ stylish ” city 
folks without it. Finally, she was persuaded to 
accept the invitation. 

Father Hogan had a good tenor voice, and he 
volunteered to sing. 


106 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


A little after seven o’clock, Mr. Beresford was 
put in his place near the grate ; and shortly after- 
wards, the guests began to come. The room was 
quite crowded. It looked very pretty, lighted by 
a dozen candles. The bright flowers glowing in 
the dark green of the festoons, excited special ad- 
miration. 

This is style,” Miss Sabina Thorne, who had 
spent two weeks in town, was heard to say. 

Father Hogan entered, in his cassock, 
and a thrill of awe ran through the room. Mr. 
Beresford introduced each person to him. He was 
exceedingly genial and pleasant. 

By the time that Dermot had given out the 
programmes, the guests had concluded that a 
priest might be very nice. The programmes were 
neatly written on small sheets of paper, on each of 
which Mary had drawn a flower design. 

-PROGRAMME- 

OVERTURE — “Semiramide’’ — Piano Maby Beresford 
“ MARY OF ARGYLE ''—Soprano Mrs. Beresford 
POPULAR AIRS— FiioZiw Brian Beresford 

‘'LAST ROSE OF SUMMER ’’-renor Father Hogan 
“ CARNIVAL OF VENICE " — Piano Kath. Beresford 
“BACK TO OUR MOUNTAINS "—Duet A. & R. Doran 
IMITATION OF MOCKING-BIRD— 

Brian Beresford 

— intermission- 
negro MELODIES— 

Dermot, Brian, and Kathleen Beresford, and 
Richard Doran 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


107 


uTEN little INDIANS ” — Violin and Voice 

Brian and Kathleen Beresford 
SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES ” 

Mrs. Beresford 

“ MONASTERY BELLS ” Mary Beresford 

THE GYPSY COUNTESS ” R. and A Doran 

“ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP” 

Dermot Beresford 

“AVE MARIA ”— Gounod— Foice and Violin 

Mrs. Beresford and Brian 

Every piece on the programme was demanded 
twice, except the overture. Dermot had written 
a translation of the words of the ‘‘ Ave Maria ’’ 
on the second page of the programmes. 

Father Hogan’s clear, pure tenor was well 
suited to ‘‘ The Last Eose of Summer,” and when 
the last tenor note died away, there was a dead 
silence of approval. Then he sang The Minstrel 
Boy,” when he could no longer refuse. 

The most effective piece was Mrs. Beresford’s 
‘‘ Ave Maria.” Mrs. Beresford watched the guests 
with some anxiety, as they turned the leaves and 
read the Hail Mary.” 

Brian threw all his skill into the violin pre- 
lude. Mrs. Beresford began with exquisite sweet 
ness, and then, borne up by the violin, burst into 
fervent devotion. The violin seemed to repeat 
after her, Ave Maria.” And Mrs. Beresford 
felt her heart glow with pity for the poor souls 
before her, which had never known how sweet it 


108 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


was to love the Mother of God. With all her 
strength, she prayed for them. 

Brian, generally not very careful, caught her 
spirit. When the last low note died away, echoed 
by the violin, Job Fitts burst into tears. 

I can’t help it,” he sobbed. It makes me 
think of mother, and lots of things.” 

The audience was visibly affected. As Daphne 
Higgins said, “It was singing and no mistake. 
It made a cold chill run up my back.” 

When the applause had died away, Mrs. 
Beresford did not sing, but played a low fantasia 
in a minor key. 

Coffee and cakes were served •, the cider and 
apples dispatched, and everybody talked to every- 
body else. Mrs. Beresford’s dainty coffee-set was 
admired, as well as the young folks’ “ manners ” 
in their attention to the older ones. Mary, Kath- 
leen, and Anna had white gowns, with bunches of 
red geranium pinned to them. They looked very 
nice. Father Hogan talked and laughed, and 
Mrs. Beresford paid particular attention to the 
most bashful people in the room. The concert 
was a great success. The Beresfords had con- 
quered their neighbors by kindness. 

The next day Dermot spent in packing his 
trunk. He had only one fear. If Dick should 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


109 


leave the farm, he should have to return from hia 
law studies to work on it. 

Dick came up to him, as he was thoughtfully 
putting his books into a box. 

“ Don’t bother yourself,” he said, putting his 
hand on Dermot’s shoulder. I know what is 
worrying you. My mother is happy with our 
uncle, Mr. Devlin, and she wants Anna and me to 
stay here. I promise you I’ll stay until they make 
a lawyer of you in New York. I like the work, 
and I mean to be grateful.” 

Dermot turned to Dick with tears in his eyes. 
He took Dick’s hand in both o ' his. He felt now 
that gratitude and kindness had levelled the bar- 
rier between them. Dick w^as no longer the poor, 
dependent youth, taken out of charity, but a 
friend, richer than a millionaire ; for what money 
can buy hearts? What advantages are better 
than frankness and kindness ? 

Dermot’s day for going came at last. He 
was sorry to leave his father, but he loved the city, 
and the humdrum work of the farm w^as tiresome 
and monotonous. Mrs. Beresford hated to part 
with him, yet she fondly hoped to see a career 
opened before him. Dermot looked old for his age, 
was staunch in his religious duties, and used to the 
ways of cities. She had- little fear that he would 


110 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


forget his lessons. She smiled and wept as she 
said — 

God bless you ! ” 

He was off — Dick and Brian went with him 
to the station — and the old life began again with- 
out him. 

During that winter, all the inmates of the 
farm studied hard. Anna Doran made great prog- 
ress. l>obody would have recognized in the gen- 
tle, ladylike girl, she to whom Mary had lent the 
white gown to make her First Communion. 

Dick, too, made advances in his studies. The 
family was very happy. 

‘^Cheerfulness’’ was the motto of the house. 

At Christmas Dermot came back, with a good 
account of himself. They noticed that he left re- 
luctantly. 

In February, the cauliflower was planted. 

Mr. Beresford, who gained some strength as 
the spring approached, gave Mr. Fitts a little, 
two-story, wooden house that stood on the edge of 
his farm. There Job and his father took up their 
abode, and watched the precious plants. 

The kindness and patience of the Beresfords 
had their effect on the old man. Gradually, see- 
ing that they were never idle, he went to work. 
As for Job, he was a changed boy. He spent two 
nights of the week in the Beresfords’ sitting-room. 


HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 


Ill 


One day, Father Hogan asked Brian and Anna 
if they would be sponsors for Job. He had quiet- 
ly resolved to become a Catholic. Mr. Fitts fol- 
lowed him into the Church, and afterwards led a 
very examplary life. It was he who in later 
days collected most of the money through the 
country, to build a chapel near the Beresfords.’ 
Mr. and Mrs. Thorne began to go to Mass. 

I’m only waiting till Easter,” Mrs. Thorne 
said. ‘‘I feel that there must bj Truth in your 
Church, since you, who naturally know better 
than any of us, are so good. Ike and I will join 
your Church at Easter.” 

‘‘ Beresfords’ ” is a place of consolation and 
comfort for the neighbors. 

The cauliflower experiment was successful. 
The Beresfords needed no money after that. 
Dick’s share of the profits enabled him to buy a 
smaller farm next to Beresfords.’ ” 

"^Brian and he are looked upon as the most 
promising young farmers of the place. 

How did you do at all ? ” asked Mr. Devlin, 
when he came to pay a visit to his nephew and 
niece, accompanied by their mother. He looked 
at the smiling fields — at the happy faces of all 
w^ho had assembled on the porch after supper, and 
heard the gay greeting that a neighbor sent to 
Mr. Beresford. 


112 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ You must have had a hard time. How did 
you and the boys work your way ? 

God helped us/’ said Mr. Beresford, rever- 
ently, ‘‘ and we tried to live according to his pre- 
cepts — to fulfill the end for which he made us.” 

It was a lucky day when I lent you that 
white gown/’ said Mary to Anna. “ What could 
we have done without you and Dick.” 

“ But what could we have done without you'i ” 
asked Mrs. Doran. 

The setting sun flashes on a flgure coming up 
the road. It is Dermot. 

“ I have passed 1 ” he cries. “ I’m a lawyer 
now ! ” 

Mrs. Beresford looked at her son, wistfully. 
She had hoped that he would be a priest. Brian 
understood the look, and w^hispered something to 
her. Her face brightened. 

‘‘You!” she said. “You will go to the 
seminary next year ! Oh, how good God is ! ” 

Everybody cheers. The Beresfords have 
worked their way to the beginning of life, 
although one of them — the father — is about to 
leave it. They can not fail to succeed in the best 
way, for they well know its object : “ To know 
God, to love Him, and serve Him in this world, 
and to be happy with Him forever in the next.” 


THE BOYS m THE BLOCK 


I. 

\ATHER Raymond was instructing his First 
— ( Communion class. He held it three times a 
week — on Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday 
nights. Twenty boys of various sizes came 
tramping through the streets and pulled the bell- 
handle at the basement door. 

It was about eight o’clock on the usual 
Wednesday night. The Bowery glittered with 
lights; the elevated trains thundered at intervals 
overhead ; Ah Wung, who kept a laundry at the 
edge of the Chinese quarter, gazed serenely at the 
vases of hideous flowers that stood on a shelf 
over his ironing table. His eye caught Tom 
Keefe’s as Tom peered through the window. Ah 
Wung shook his head, and muttered something 
unpleasant in his mysterious language against 
this ’Melican boy. The glance of the ’Melican 
boy had rudely brought him back from a dream 
of the Flowery Kingdom, when those hideous 
buds and blossoms in their dragon-covered vases 
were made. But Tom Keefe meant Ah Wung 


114 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


no harm. The last time he had been at confes- 
sion, he had told the priest how often he had 
‘‘chased the Chinee” — a form of amusement 
much in vogue in his part of the city — and he 
did not intend to do it again. 

lie was innocently wondering how Ah Wung 
managed to get his shirts so glossy ; but Ah 
Wung did not know that. He suddenly rose 
out of his beautiful dream of Canton, or some 
other Celestial city, where he hoped that his 
bones would be buried, and he began very grimly 
to fill his mouth with water, and to spurt it out 
on the clothes before him. He kept an eye on 
Tom, and Tom knew, from previous experience, 
that Ah Wung was ready to spurt a mouthful 
over him at the slightest provocation. 

A clock struck eight o’clock. Tom looked 
around. Just then a shrill whistle sounded on 
the other side of the street. 

“All right,” Tom said; and he whistled, too. 

He was joined by another boy of about his 
own age, which was thirteen. 

“ Late, Ned ? ” 

“ No. Father Raymond does not begin work 
till ten minutes after eight.” 

“ What kept you ? ” 

“ Oh, you see, John didn’t get in till after 
seven. It was a late day at his office and Larry 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


115 


was stuck with six Telegrams^ and seven Mails 
and Expresses until nearly seven, for the snow 
made people hurry along, so that they didn’t stop 
to buy papers. And after supper was over, I had 
to wash the dishes, for it was my night, you 
know. Come along !” 

Ned looked at Ah "Wung and gave a startling 
howl, that made the poor washer-man start in 
terror. 

Don’t,” said Tom. ‘^Let the Heathen alone. 
Father Raymond says they’re fellow-creatures 
like us.” 

“ They may be,” answered Ned, “but I’m glad 
I’m not a fellow-creature like them. Good-bye, 
cork soles.” 

“ Father Raymond said that we were not to 
plague them.” 

“All right. I will not. But I forgot.” 

Ned Symthe is a ruddy, freckled boy, with a 
snub nose, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes, and big 
hands and feet, which seem very prominent, for 
he does not know what to do with them. Ilis 
clothes are patched, but warm ; he wears a wool- 
len scarf around his neck and tied over his ears. 

Tom Keefe is paler and more thoughtful- 
looking. He is much thinner and taller than 
Ned, and he walks more slowly, as if he were 
tired. His clothes are more carefully kept and 


116 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


better fitting than his companion’s. Looking at 
them, one could see at a glance that Tom had a 
mother and Ned had not. 

Father Raymond sat at a desk in the church 
basement with nearly all his boys ranged before 
him. lie was dignified, but benevolent-looking. 
Even his spectacles seemed to reflect things good- 
humoredly. 

‘‘Where’s Larry to-night?” he asked, as 
Tom and Ned entered. Larry was a year younger 
than his brother Ned. 

“ Please, Father, it’s his washing night,” 
said Ned. 

Father Raymond looked at Ned with a slight 
air of surprise. Several boys giggled. Ned 
kicked the nearest one. 

“ Order ! ” said Father Raymond. 

When everything was quiet he began the 
Our Father. Then he and the boys said the 
Hail Mary and the Gloria. 

The lesson began. 

Most of the boys had been to confession, but 
none of them had made his First Communion. 

u c What’s a Sacrament?’” asked Father 
Raymond, of a small boy at the end of the bench. 
He hung his head and stammered. 

“Don’t be afraid, Charlie,” Father Ray- 
mond said, kindly. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


117 


There are seven — ” began the small boy. 

A dozen hands were put up. 

‘‘Next!’’ 

“A ceremony — ” began another boy, eagerly. 

“ Next 1 ” 

Tom Keefe tried to collect his senses. It 
was near his turn. Oh, dear, if he had only paid 
particular attention to that answer. 

“ Next ! — next ! — next ! ” 

Father Raymond’s “ nexts ” were like the 
snapping of a whip, sharp and quick. 

“ Well, Tom Keefe ! ” 

“All the Sacraments give grace — ” mumbled 
Tom. 

“ Next ! ” 

Father Raymond’s face expressed astonish- 
ment. 

“That always made them feel mean,” they 

said. 

Tom sat down, his ears tingling. As he did so 
the answer came to him, and he put up his hand. 

“ Too late,” said Father Raymond. “ What 
is a Sacrament ? ” 

“Please, Father,” cried Ned Smythe, trembl- 
ing, and almost ready to cry, “ please say that 
over again ? ” 

Father Raymond repeated the question as if 
he were reading to very small and stupid children. 


118 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


The boys felt ashamed of themselves. 

Oh, I know ! ” cried Ned. ‘‘ ‘A Sacrament 
is an outward sign, instituted by Christ, to give 
grace.’ ” 

It is nearly time somebody answered it,” 
commented Father Raymond. 

The lesson went on, with many disasters. 
The boys worked hard all day, and it was hard 
for them to get down to the study of even the 
easy chapters of the Catechism. When some of 
the boys had called out ‘‘ Good-night, Father,” 
and had run out into the street. Father Raymond 
called Ned to his desk. 

Ned went, expecting a reprimand. Father 
Raymond looked at him kindly. 

“ Why isn’t Larry here? ” he asked again. 

It’s his turn to wash. Father.” 

Father Raymond looked puzzled. 

‘‘ John takes care of us, you know. Father,” 
explained Ned, ‘‘ and he makes us take turns in 
doing the work. He does the washing one week, 
I take the second, and Larry the third. Larry 
has had to do it two weeks in succession, because 
he did not come home one night until after ten 
o’clock. He went to the theatre. J ohn keeps 
up discipline.” 

Do you mean to say that John and you, and 
Larry, keep house yourselves ? ” 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


119 


Yes/’ answered E'ed. Of course, Father, 
at the old stand, where father and mother used 
to live. Father was killed by a wall falling on 
him, two years ago, and mother didn’t live six 
months after that ; so we have to look after our- 
selves.” 

Father Raymond smiled. 

‘‘Are you a good cook, FTed ? ” 

“ No,” said Ned, very earnestly, “ John is a 
good cook. You ought to taste his hash. It is 
splendid ! Oh, my ! I can wash, though.” 

“ Yes, he can. Father,” put in Tom Keefe, 
forgetting his manners, in his anxiety to support 
his friend. “His shirt bosoms are almost as 
shiny as Ah Wung’s.” 

“I don’t sprinkle ’em with my mouth, like a 
Heathen, either,” said Ned, proudly. 

Father Raymond smiled. He seldom laughed 
when the boys were present. If he laughed, 
they would be sure to attempt “ monkey tricks ” 
to make him laugh again. He knew them well. 

“ Tell Larry to come to my room in the 
parochial house, to-morrow night. How many 
boys are there in your block ? ” 

“ Thirteen,” answered Ned, promptly. “It’s 
a very short block, you know. There are the 
Murphys, two of ’em, the three Malones, Tom 
and Bill Keefe, we three, and Alfred Schwatz, 


120 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


and his brothers, Michael and Henry. You 
mean the Catholic boys, don’t you, Father ? ” 

Oh, yes.” 

That’s all, then. The Italians don’t count.” 

Yes, they do ; but Father Bianchi looks 
after them. Some of them are very nice boys.” 

Ned and Tom made no answer. They had 
made up their minds about the eye-talians.” 
There was a constant warfare going on between 
the Americans in the block, and the Italians. 
Father Raymond wanted to stop it. 

‘‘ Henry and Michael Schwatz and the 
Malone boys do not come to the First Commun- 
ion class. Do you know them ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, yes,” said Tom, ‘‘ they’re good fellows, 
but they like to go to the theatre on Saturday 
nights, and then they don’t feei I’ke getting up 
in the morning.” 

Father Raymond shook his head gravely. 

‘‘ Could not you boys bring them to the 
class ? ” 

Hot much ! ” cried Hed ; then he reddened 
and stammered, “I did not mean to talk that 
way. Father, I forgot myself.” 

Father Raymond nodded. 

Well, good-night, boys. Study your Cate- 
chism lesson well for next class-night, and don’t 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


121 


be too hard on the Italians. Stop — here are two 
tickets for a concert, to-morrow night.” 

The boys took the tickets, and thanked the 
priest. He bent down zo finish a letter. They 
looked at the tickets, and read the programme on 
the back of them. 

‘‘A lot of hi-falutin’ music we can’t under- 
stand ! ” said Tom. “If it was only Gilmore’s, 
now ! I tell you, he had the boss band at Coney 
Island, last summer.” 

“ It’s no use to have Father Raymond waste 
his tickets on us. We don’t care for this classical 
stuff;” and he spelt out, “Moonlight Smata.” 
“ MHiat does that mean ? I’d rather hear Har- 
rigan sing ‘A Pitcher of Beer.’ ” 

Ned took the tickets back to Father Ray- 
mond, and said, respectfully — 

“We hope you will give these tickets to 
someone proper, Father. The music would be 
just wasted on us. We’d rather go to the the- 
ayter. We’re much obliged. You don’t happen 
to have any bill-poster tickets, do you ? They’d 
be good enough for us.” 

Tom Keefe pulled Ned’s jacket as hard as he 
could. He was shocked by such a bold request. 
Nevertheless, he waited anxiously until Father 
Raymond sealed his envelope, in the hope that 
the good priest might possibly produce some 


122 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


theatre tickets from the breast of his cassock, 
where he was supposed to keep a supply of 
pictures, medals, scapulars, pen-knives, and lead- 
pencils. 

Father Raymond knew very well that ITed 
did not mean the faintest disrespect. What 
would have been disrespectful in boys of better 
breeding, was simply the usual way of these 
children, who were without much direction at 
home. 

‘‘I wish you boys would go less to the 
theatre,’’ said Father Raymond. Once in a 
while, it does you no harm ; but as a regular 
thing, it is bad.” 

But it brightens a fellow up, when he’s 
been selling papers all day,” said Tom, ‘‘ and 
things are rather dull at home. Oh, Father 
Raymond,” — Tom was so sure of the kind priest’s 
sympathy, that he often made sudden confidences, 
which gave Father Raymond many clews in deal- 
ing with the boys — you ought to see ‘ The 
Cow-Boy’s Revenge ! ’ It is boss. There’s a 
fellow that got into trouble, because he killed his 
own brother, and he goes to Texas, and resolves 
to blow himself up with dynamite, which he 
carries in a ring on his little finger, and he meets 
a cow-boy, and the cow-boy sees a scar on his 
third finger, and says, ‘Methinks I see one I 


THE BOYS IH THE BLOCK. 


123 


have known/ in a thunderous tone, and then a 
damsel — she was a girl with red cheeks, but the 
people in the play call her a damsel — rushes out 
of a castle and says, ‘ Ile-is-your-long-lost-brother- 
there-is-dynamite-in-his-ring,’ and then the cow- 
boy grips the ring, and there is an awful explosion, 
and fhen ” 

‘‘ Stop,” said Father Raymond, that’s 
enough. What good does all that stuff do you ? ” 

“ It livens a fellow up,” said Ned, in a dis- 
couraged voice. He thought that Father Ray- 
mond might have waited till he told how the 
dynamite blew up a desperate villian, who was 
concealed in the castle, and how the long-lost 
brothers were happily united ; but Father Ray- 
mond did not seem to care. 

Next week, I’ll tell you the story of St. 
Sebastian,” said Father Raymond. It’s true, 
and more thrilling than those cow-boy lies.” 

Thank you. Father,” said the boys. 

‘‘And, Ned, give my best regards to John, 
and tell him I’d like to see him sometime. Keep 
out of mischief. God bless you both.” 


124 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


II. 

The block was a short row of houses in a 
New York street, leading into the Bowery. The 
Bowery, it is said, has its name from the fact that 
it was, in old Knickerbocker daj- s, a pleasant rural 
walk — a real bower ” of trees and shrubs. Look- 
ing at the row of glistening stores, hearing the 
clatter of the trains on the elevated railroad, it is 
hard to believe that the long, bristling thorough- 
fare was ever a country place. 

The houses in the block were very tall. The 
lower part of each contained a store, the cellar, 
too, was used either as a store, or as a dwelling for 
very poor people. All the people in the block were 
poor, but some were poorer than others. These 
cellars were generally occupied by Chinese. The 
block contained a good many representations of 
various nationalities. Among them were several 
Italian families. 

The boys in the block were divided into two 
cliques — one made up of the Italians and the other 
of the boys already mentioned. Their hands were 
against each other both were against the 

Chinese. 

So far. Father Raymond had in vain preached 
peace. There was no peace. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


125 


Guiseppe Baldini let a piece of water-melon 
fall on Ned Keefe’s head. Ned punched Guiseppe 
when he had a chance. 

Later, in the Catechism class for the Italians, 
Guiseppe had been asked if he understood the 
meaning of forgiving his enemies. 

‘‘ Si he had answered at once. 

If somebody hit you,” asked the teacher, 
‘‘ would you forgive them? ” 

Si — oh, yes,’^ answered Guiseppe, readily, 
thinking of Ned Keefe, if I couldn’t catch him ! ” 

Beppo Testa tied a tomato can to tlie tail of 
Ned Smythe’s dog, and libd Smythe declared war 
against the three Testa^^i. who played the harp, flute, 
and violin for a living. 

Everybody in the block was soon more or less 
mixed up in the feud. It made the street in front 
of the block unsafe. The Italian boys, fewer in 
number than the others, had to get up early and 
run oS about their business as quickly as they 
could. They prudently tried to get home before 
the others. 

Every floor of the block contained, at least, 
three families. The war was not carried on inside 
the house. An occasional fight on the stairs 
occured ; but by common consent there was a truce 
cnce the house was gained. 

Tom and Ned went, with the best intentions, 


126 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


towards home after Father Raymond dismissed 
them. They felt virtuous They were conscious 
of being truly good. They thought how much 
better they were than the other fellows who did 
not know their Catechism lesson. 

Boys in this rarely complacent state of mind 
had better be careful. A boy that feels his weak- 
ness is less likely to get into scrapes, than he who 
thinks he is much better than his fellow-beings. 

Tom and Ned walked on, sedately whistling a 
favorite tune in unison. As they neared the block, 
they saw Guiseppe Baldini and Beppo Testa cross- 
ing the street. 

“ Let’s frighten them,” Ned said. 

‘‘ No,” Tom answered, Father Raymond 
would not like it.” 

‘‘Just for fun, you know.” 

Tom hesitated. Beppo carried his violin 
and Guiseppe had a bag strung across his back. 

Beppo was a short boy, with large black eyes, 
white teeth, and black curly hair. Cold as it was, 
his ragged jacket was wide open in front. He 
liad a pleasant expression, and he smiled whenever 
he had a chance. 

Guiseppe was taller, not so dark, more quiet 
and thoughtful than Beppo. 

Neither Guiseppe nor Beppo saw the two 
other boys. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


127 


“ Come now/’ whispered Ned, “ we’ll fright- 
en them.” 

Tom, in spite of his good resolutions and self- 
complacency, did not resist this appeal. He and 
Ned darted behind a cart which stood in the street. 

Beppo was softly singing Santa Lucia.” 
Guiseppe looked around. Who could tell whether 
the Murphys, the Malones, the Schwatzes,or other 
enemies might not be laying in wait ? Guiseppe 
stopped. He thought he heard a sound. 

“ Whoop ! give it to the Dagoes ! ” cried 
Ned, suddenly uttering the war-cry of his faction, 
and rushing from his retreat, followed by Tom. 

Guiseppe and Beppo stood still a minute, 
and then probably remembering that such attacks 
Avere never made by their enemies, except in large 
parties ; turned and fled. 

Ned and Tom ran after them, uttering un- 
earthly yells. It seemed to the Italian boys as if 
half a dozen of their tormentors were on their 
track. 

Guiseppe and Beppo made a dash towards 
the door of their dwelling ; but Tom, who had 
now forgotten everything but the excitement of 
the chase, headed them off. Guiseppe jumped 
backwards, not noticing that the entrance to the 
cellar had been left open, and fell headlong with a 


128 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


cry of fright, which, as he struck the ground with 
a thud, changed into a groan. 

Beppo would have fallen, too, had not Tom 
caught him. As it was, he was knocked against 
the wall. He tried hard to save his violin by hold- 
ing it in his arms. It was in vain. The force 
which pushed him crushed the instrument be- 
tween him and the wall. 

Beppo uttered a cry of despair, and carried 
the ruins of his violin to the light of the street- 
lamp. He wrung his hands. 

“He couldn’t go on more if he’d killed a 
baby,” muttered Ned, feeling very much ashamed 
of himself. “It’s only an old fiddle.” 

Beppo sobbed and gesticulated under the 
lamp-post. 

“ I am lost ! I am lost ! ” he exclaimed in 
Italian. “ It’s my father’s violin.” 

- “ Don’t be a fool ! ” said Hed. “ Don’t cry 

like a big baby. The thing can be mended, can’t 
it!” 

“Never ! ” cried the Italian hoy, “ never — no ! ” 

Ned saw that the violin was split clearly in 
two. The strings hung loose. It had parted, so 
that they clung to one piece, while the other was 
stringless. Ned’s heart sank. He had a good heart. 
Oh, why had he not followed Father Raymond’s 
advice ! 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


129 


Tom had gone down into the cellar in search 
of Guiseppe. He found him kneeling on the 
ground at the foot of the steps, trying to gather the 
apples which had been scattered from his bag: as 
he fell. 

Tom stooped down and tried to help him. 
It was dark and it was hard to find the apples. 
Tom lit a match. He saw that Guiseppe had a 
cut on his head. 

Guiseppe recognized him and went up the 
steps, clutching his bag. 

Wait a minute/’ Tom said. ‘‘ You’d better 
let me help you.” 

You’ve already helped me to a cut head,” 
answered Guiseppe, “ and lost my apples. I don’t 
want anymore help.” 

When Guiseppe reached the street and saw 
the condition of Beppo’s violin, he became very 
angry. 

You are nice Christians,” he said. You 
chase poor boys and try to hurt them. You are 
worse than the heretics. Poor Beppo can no longer 
play. He must starve, and Hina must starve 
His brother, Filippo, is sick, and Ricardo is away 
in the country. What can be done now that Beppo 
has no violin? ” 

Hed and Tom felt very bad and uncomfort- 
able. They were silent. If Guiseppe had raved 


130 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


about his own misfortunes, they would have an- 
swered him in their own way. But the sight of 
Guiseppe forgetting his injuries in those of an- 
other, made them feel like brutes. 

Beppo leaned against the wall of the house, 
bending over his crushed violin. He was the very 
picture of despair. 

‘‘ You’d better go home,” said Ned, gruffly, 
to hide his feeling. 

Beppo made no answer. 

‘‘ Perhaps he’s afraid to go home,” Tom sug- 
gested. Let’s go with him and tell his people 
we did it.” 

Very well,” said Ned, reluctantly, and then, 
turning to Guiseppe, ‘‘you can tell your folks 
that I cut your head, and that I lost your apples. 
If they want satisfaction, tell them they can take 
it out of me.” 

“ "Will you give me back the apples ? ” de- 
manded Guiseppe. “ They are very dear. I 
bought them to sell on a stand. I have lost a dozen, 
at least.” 

Ned made no reply to this practical proposi- 
tion, He took Beppo’s violin, and caught Beppo 
by the^shoulder. Assisted by Tom, he half-drag- 
ged, half-carried the weeping boy up to a room on 
the fourth floor. He knocked at the door. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


131 


‘‘ Hush,” whispered a voice within. 

The door opened. The boys saw an interior 
dimly lighted by a kerosene lamj). On a shelf 
against the wall was a colored statue of the Blessed 
Virgin, ornamented with some artificial fiowers. 
There were three beds in the room, which was 
without carpet or other furniture, except a stool, 
a chair, and a table. 

A little girl appeared in the door-way. 
Hush,” she whispered. “ I have just made 
Filippo go to sleep.” 

She was an olive-skinned little girl, with 
large black eyes and a sweet expression. She 
wore a dress rather longer than American girls 
of her age — which was about thirteen — wear. 
Around her shoulders was drawn a gayly colored, 
three-cornered shawl. 

She looked at Ned and Tom, and the smile on 
her face turned to a look of fear. 

‘‘ Have you hurt Beppo ? ” 

‘‘ Ah, no, Nina,” sobbed Beppo, I wish they 
had! They have made me break our father’s 
violin.” 

‘^Broken! ” cried Nina, seizing the mutilated 
violin and kissing it. ‘^And the dear father. — 
may he rest in peace — loved it so ! ” 

Wliat a fuss about an old fiddle ! ” muttered 

Ned. 


132 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Tom made no answer. Nina’s grief caused 
him to feel more like a brute than ever. 

No good ever comes of disobeying Father 
Raymond/’ he said. ‘‘ WeVe done a mean thing, 
Ned, and no mistake. It makes me sick to think 
of it.” 

‘‘We’d better go,” Ned said. 

Nina looked at them reproachfully. 

“ What did Beppo do to you ? ” 

“ He made a face at me the other day,” re- 
sponded Ned promptly. 

Nina’s eyes flashed. 

“ And for that you broke our precious violin ? 
How will Beppo earn money now ? He cannot 
play Filippo’s harp, and Ricardo is in the country. 
We can no longer buy me^iicine for Filippo. We 
must starve ! ” Nina’s gestures grew more im- 
pressive. She pointed to the statue of the 
Madonna. “ How can you expect the Blessed 
Virgin to love you ? ” 

Ned felt very uneasy. 

“If Beppo had turned around and showed 
flght, like a man, he would not have broken his 
fiddle,” he said. 

“But you frightened us in the dark.” said 
Beppo, sobbing still. There are so many of you 
in the block. We thought that you were a great 
crowd. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


183 


Nina’s eyes flashed again. 

“ You Irish and American boys are cowards,” 
she said. “ You attack our Italian boys because 
you think they will run.” 

Ned clenched nis fist. 

^^Oh, yes,” Nina said, sarcastically, ^^hit me. 
I’m only a girl, but I will not run. I am surprised 
that Father Raymond does not teach you better.” 

“ He does,” said Tom. 

‘‘I’m sorry we did not mind him,” said Ned. 

“ Come in, Beppo,” Nina continued, “ come — 
we will, at least, starve together. I hope you are 
satisfied with your work.” 

“ Good-night,” Ned answered, feebly. 

“ Good-night, gentlemen^^^ responded Nina, 
shutting the door. 

But the boys’ quick ears heard both Beppo 
and her sobbing over the violin. 

“ I never felt so mean in my life,” said Tom. 

“ They are making an awful fuss over that 
fiddle. We’ll have to help them some way.” 

“ I don’t see how we can, Ned, we have as 
much as we can do to help ourselves.” 

“ I wish I could blame it all on somebody else. 
I do, indeed ! But I can’t. It was all our fault I ” 

“ That little girl gave us some home thrusts. 
It’s a nasty business, Ned. We’ll have to stop 
plaguing the Italians. It never struck me before 


134 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


that we were doing them much harm. I wish we 
hadn’t acted like — like — ” 

Cowards,” Ned said. 


III. 

The washing was almost over when Ned 
Smythe, in a despondent frame of mind, reached 
home. John,was trying hard to master a tough 
sum in fractions, for, although he was nearly 
twenty-one years of age, he had never had time 
to go to school for more tho.. a few months in all 
his life. He was now a porter in a commission 
office, down-town; he was as industrious as he was 
ambitious, he wanted to be something more, and 
he knew that to rise, he must educate himself. 
So he worked with all his might when he had time. 
It was a slow task without a teacher. Besides, he 
had his share of the household work to do, which 
consisted of the sewing and mending of the family. 
John could sew like a sailor. A tailor might 
have smiled at some of his seams, but they were 
strong. John had not served a year on the bark 
Curlew^ bound from New York to Havana and 
back, for nothing. He could use his hands more 
skillfully than any landlubber. 

John was big and stalwart. A healthy, 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


135 


honest fellow, with wide-open eyes that looked 
straight at the world. 

Larry, who was washing his last pair of stock- 
ings, looked sleepy. He was a chubby boy, always 
with a tear in his clothes, no matter how diligently 
John might mend. 

The room in which the boys cooked, talked, 
ate, and read, when they did read, had a neat 
square of bright carpet in the centre of the floor. 
It contained a big cooking stove, a table and sev- 
eral chairs. The walls were papered with pictures 
cut from illustrated papers. Their sleeping room 
was much smaller. 

Their rooms were clean and warm — in con- 
trast to those of many of their neighbors, where 
dirt and warmth seemed to be inseparable. 

Hed opened the door and said — 

“ How d’ye do, boys ! ” and sank into a chair 
by the fire. 

“ I say,” Larry said, did you get ‘ The 
Bandit of the Pyrenees ’ from Tom Keefe. He 
said he’d lend it to us.” 

John raised his head from his book of Arith- 
metic. 

‘‘ Look here, Larry, I told you you should not 
read books like that. And, Ned, I hope you will 
not encourage him to break my rule.” 

“Very well,” Ned said, briefly. 


136 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘ I guess you read them yourself when you 
were my age/’ Larry burst out. If you hadn’t 
read too many novels, you’d never have gone to 
sea.” 

‘‘ That is true, Larry,” J ohn answered, with 
that mixture of gentleness and firmness which had 
enabled him to control these hot-headed lads, 
‘‘ that is true. If I had minded wiser people, I 
would not have suffered as I did. I came home, 
after my last voyage in The Curlew^ with a broken 
arm. For weeks I could get nothing to do, for 
nobody wanted to hire a boy who could use but one 
arm. I learned how foolish this reading of bad 
novels is.” 

‘‘They’re not bad,” snapped Larry, who had 
let his iron stay so long in one place, that there was 
a warning smell of burning stocking. “ I never 
saw a bad word in any of them. The good peo- 
ple always get the money, and kill the bad people 
in the end.” 

“ You’d better stick to your Catechism, I 
say,” answered John. 

“ I am not going to work all day and have 
no fun at all. I am fond of reading, and I like 
good, stirring novels.” 

“ You had better study something useful.” 

“ I want fun for awhile.” 

“I don’t,” put in Ned. “John is right. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


137 


Tom Keefe and I have been having fun, and I 
never felt so mean in my life.” 

John turned up the light and looked anx- 
iously into Ned’s face. 

“ No scrape I hope — and after Catechism 
class, too.” 

‘‘ That’s the worst of it. Father Raymond 
told me to meditate on the duty of loving my 
neighbors as myself, and he said, too, that Ital- 
ians and everybody were our neighbors, and then 
I went out, and I’ll tell you what I did.” 

It was an admirable trait in the Smy thes that 
they were entirely frank. They had no secrets 
from one another. They would tell unpleasant 
things and look for advice, sympathy, or even a 
scolding with complete indifference. John had 
taught them to be frank. 

John shook his head gravely when Ned had 
finished 

It’s too bad,” he said. 

Ned moved uneasily in his chair. 

I didn’t think,” he said. 

‘‘But you and Tom have hurt both Beppo 
and Guiseppe, just the same as if you had 
thought.” 

I know that,” said Ned. 

“ I’ll drop in and see the Testas to-morrow 
night.” 


138 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘Don’t, John,” said Larry, “they will put a 
stiletto into you.” 

“ I see you have learned a great deal out of 
your novels, Larry. Now,” continued John, “when 
mother was alive, she used to take an interest in 
the Italians that lived near us. She was just as 
poor as they were, but she knew how to be neat 
and clean, and make things comfortable. She and 
the Italians were great friends. She helped them 
all she could. ‘They’re Christians like us,’ she 
was always saying, ‘ and we must show some 
Christian love for them.’ And she did. She 
would send a bunch of our red geraniums to help 
take the chill of death off a little child, that lay 
in its coffin, or she’d send some other neighborly 
thing within her reach. And whenever there 
was a marriage or a christening, the Italians 
would always ask her to be present, and send in 
some sweetmeats for us children, or a bottle of 
wine. They were not a bad lot. And I think that 
if we really mean to profit by the lessons of the 
Catechism, we ought to put them in practice. To 
go and talk about love for one’s neighbor, and then 
go to chase one’s neighbor until his neck is nearly 
broken, is not a way of living honest and Christ- 
ian-like.” 

“ Preach on, preach ever,” said Larrj’^, yawn- 
ing. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


139 


John’s cheeks reddened. 

You ought to have more respect for John,” 
said Ned. “ Preaching or no preaching, he has 
kept a comfortable roof over our heads.” 

Larry only grinned. He loved John, but he 
did not like to show it. 

Ned went to bed with a heavy heart. He did 
not fall asleep as usual. He thought about Beppo’s 
misfortune, until his brain seemed to be nothing 
but confusion. And then Guiseppe’s question 
about the apples worried him. What would Father 
Raymond say? 

Ned had a miserable time, but at last he fell 
asleep. 

John was not hard on the boys. He allowed 
them as much money as he could for themselves, 
so Ned and Larry had, unless the times were un- 
usually hard, a little hoard of their own. Larry 
never had his long ; but Ned added something 
every week to his little sum, which he kept in an 
old stocking tied under the bed. He had saved 
nearly six dollars. He had made many plans about 
this money. He thought of buying John a pair 
of heavy winter boots ; of getting a little stand 
and beginning the cigar business, in connection 
with a chair and a box for blacking boots ; of hav- 
ing a cutaway coat for Sunday, like those worn 


140 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


by some of the more aristocratic boys in the block; 
and of playing an accordion. 

This last thought had a sweetness all its own. 
Ned had often imagined himself in the act of 
pushing and dragging ‘‘ Sweet Violets from the 
instrument he loved. He felt, however, that he 
must give up even this beautiful dream. On the 
next morning, he went over to see Tom Keefe. 

Tom was getting ready to go to work. But 
before starting, he had to wash the faces of his 
three little brothers, and help his mother to clear 
away the breakfast things. Tom lived with his 
father and mother on the third floor of a house in 
the block, not quite so crowded as the one in which 
Ned lived. His parents had three rooms, and they 
kept the place as snug and comfortable as they 
could. 

It was impossible to avoid hearing the bad 
language of the evil people who lived in the house, 
and in the neighborhood ; and it was no uncom- 
mon thing to meet a drunkard reeling upstairs. 
But Tom’s father and mother did the best they 
could to keep their children pure. They sent the 
younger ones to the Brothers’ school, and made 
the eldest — Tom — go regularly to Fatlier Ray- 
mond’s class. Every night after supper, all the 
family said the rosary, and on Sunday nights, Tom, 
who had a good voice, sang a hymn, assisted by the 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


141 


whole family. Tom’s father liked to have his 
family around him on Sunday nights. Sometimes 
the Smythes dropped in, and a concert was the 
order of the night. Tom’s father and mother be- 
lieved that the best way to keep him and his bro- 
thers out of the streets, was to make their home 
cheerful. 

Tom’s mother was tying up a package of 
luncheon for him, when 'Ned entered and said, 
“good morning.” 

Ned waited until the luncheon was ready and 
started out with Tom. Tom was an errand boy 
in an office, down-town. 

“ I came to ask you to go over to the Testas’ 
with me.” 

Tom shook his head. 

“Not at all — I don’t want to go near them. 
They will not want to see us.” 

Ned pulled six silver dollars from his pocket. 

“ I am going to ask Beppo to buy a new vio- 
lin with these.” 

Tom started in amazement. 

“ But how about the accordion ?” 

“ ril have to do without it, that’s all. Will 
you come to the Testa’s with me.” 

“ All right ! ” said Tom. 

They found Beppo and Nina seated on the 


142 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


floor, trying to put the violin together. Nina had 
been crying, Beppo was still crying. 

The visitors stood timidly on the threshold, 
Nina saw them, but her eyes flashed, and she turned 
her back to them. Filippo had slightly raised 
himself on his pillow. He watched the efforts of 
the children, and shook his head mournfully. 

“ No more music from that violin! ” he said. 

Ned walked up to the two and laid his six 
silver dollars on the floor, near the violin. Beppo 
started from his knees. 

‘‘ What for? he asked. 

‘‘ To buy another fiddle — that’s all,” answered 
Ned, shamefacedly. 

‘‘Impossible,” said Filippo, from the bed, 
“ one could never buy a violin like that, with all the 
money one could earn. It was a treasure.” 

Ned sighed 

“ Well,” he said “ I can’t do any more than 
offer you all I have.” 

Nina pushed the money away from her. 

“ I would not take it, Beppo. I would starve 
first. These boys hate us ! ” 

Ned took up his money. 

“ I see it is no use,” he said. “ I suppose I 
may as well buy an accordion, after all.” 

Beppo raised his head. 

“ Nina is wrong, I can see that you do not hate 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


143 


Hs. But it needs much money — ah, so much 
money ! — to buy a good violin. ’’ As Beppo said 
this, he seemed to sink into utter despair. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! ” exclaimed Tom. “ Don’t give 
up so easily. Never say die. Why can’t you hire 
a fiddle. Old Altieri in the cellar has two. Give 
him fifty cents a week, or less, and he’ll lend you 
one.” 

Beppo and Nina looked at each other in sud- 
den hope. 

‘‘ He speaks well,” said Nina, looking favor- 
ably on Tom. “ I did not think he had so much 
sense.” 

“ Ah, yes,” answered Beppo, “ but we have 
not the fifty cents. Ah, no, we have not the 
money.” 

‘‘ There it is,” said Ned, promptly, thrusting 
his six dollars in Beppo’s hand. 

‘‘ He will pay you back,” said Nina, proudly. 
‘‘ As you do not really hate us, we will take your 
money ; but we will pay you back. See, I will 
mark it down.” 

Nina lit a match, let it burn for a few sec- 
onds, and wrote something in Italian on the white 
wall, which was used very often for this kind ot 
book-keeping. 

Now let’s go,” said Ned, afraid that Filep- 
po or Beppo might thank him. He did not ex- 


144 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


pect thanks from I^ina. She seemed inclined to 
look on the transaction as a strictly business one. 
‘‘We shall pay you back/’ said Nina, proudly. 


IV. 

The news of the misfortunes of Guiseppe and 
Beppo spread through the block. And when Tom 
told his “ crowd ” how sorry Ned and he had been 
made, by the condition to which the Testas had 
been brought, the Italians were not molested. 
Father Raymond heard, too, of Ned’s effort to re- 
pair the mischief he had done, and he spoke of 
it at the next Catechism class. Beppo Testa hired 
a violin and began business again. Father Ray- 
mond began to feel that his teaching was bearing 
fruit. He did not want his boys to have only a 
parrot-like acquaintance with the Christian Doc- 
trine. lie wanted them to show that they were 
Christians in their lives. It was vain, he thought, 
that the boys could tell him what the greatest of 
the commandments was, if the crop of broken 
heads, and the complaints of injury still in- 
creased in the block. 

Father Raymond had succeeded in getting all 
the boys of the block to come to his class, except 
Larry Smythe. Even the two Schwatz boys, 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


145 


ruddy, curly-lieaded little fellows, who spent all 
the money they could get at the theatre, came 
and were interested in Father Raymond’s instruc- 
tions and stories. The two Murphies and the 
three Malones were always in time, with clean 
faces and hands, which, at least, showed that an ef- 
fort had been made to make them white. 

The block was at peace, so far as the boys were 
concerned. Some of the grown-up people quarrel- 
ed among themselves, but the boys earned admi- 
ration, even from the policeman of their district, 
by their careful conduct. 

John Smythe was very uneasy. Larry had be- 
come unmanageable of late. He hurried through 
hiswoik, and then pulled out a novel or a story 
paper and busied himself in it. He had acquired 
a habit of reading in the street ; a story paper 
always stuck out of his pocket. He walked about 
as if in a dream. John could hardly get a word 
from him. When Hed asked whether he would 
have some bread one evening, he answered — 

“ Twenty scalps ! ” 

He was thinking of some of the Indian 
fights he had been reading about. When John 
did not give him some household task to io after 
supper, he went out very silently and mysteriously. 

Where he went John did not know. He tried 
to fiind out who his companions were. But Larry 


146 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


would not tell. Father Raymond came and talked 
to him, but he was sullen and quiet. All John’s 
threats and Father Raymond’s persuasions, were 
not sufficient to get him to go to the Catechism 
class. 

Finally, John ordered Larry to stay home at 
night. He obeyed for a time, and then stole from 
the house when John’s back was turned. John 
threatened Larry with all the housework. He 
hated to wash dishesandtosweepand all the ‘‘girls’ 
work,” which he and his brothers were obliged to 
do. For awhile, after John had uttered this hor- 
rible threat, Larrj^ came home regularly and did 
his part of the work. 

John dislikcned household work very much, 
too. He was the most industrious of the j^oung 
men in the employment of Wilmer & Co., which 
firm promised to advance him, as soon as he could 
advocate himself sufficiently. But he had little 
time for improvement. When he got home at 
night, he was very tired and there were many 
things that had to be looked after. Many a time, 
when Ned or Larry was particularly hard to man- 
age, John was tempted to give up the effort to keep 
the little family together. Other people told him 
that he was sacrificing too muchj for the sake of his 
brothers. 

You are losing your chances,” these people 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


147 


said to him, “ your brothers will probably prove 
ungrateful.’’ 

But John answered that he knew all this. 
He feltthat it was his duty to take care of his broth- 
ers. He said to himself that he had no right 
to think about any reward, even of gratitude, from 
them. He knew that by letting them shift for 
themselves, he would improve his position. He 
could go and board in some quiet house, and have 
all his evenings for study. Other poor boys, no 
older than Ned and Larry, were out in the world. 
They 'were very hard to manage. But John had 
learned his Catechism well. He knew the mean- 
ing of the question, What doth it profit a man 
to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” 

It was better that he should know that he was 
pleasing God, by giving up his own ease, than that 
he should choose to gain advancement, by leaving 
his brothers unprotected from the evil around 
them. 

Larry could not or would not understand this. 
He imagined John restrained him, just because he 
did not want him and Ned to have any pleasure. 

‘^John’s too hard on us,” he said to Ned. 

He doesn’t care for the theatre and that’s why 
he doesn’t like us to go. He likes to read old, 
dry school-books, and he wants us to like ’em, 
too. He’s awfully dry. I say, Ned, Ted Malone 


148 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


has a big pile of story papers and novels hid away 
somewhere. Ile^ lent me some. They’re boss, I 
tell you^ 

What have you been reading ? ” ITed asked. 

Oh, I have just finished ‘ The Bloody Aven- 
ger ; or. Twelve On The Track of Death/ and I’ve 
another in my pocket, ‘ The Boy Gambler; or, The 
Scalp Hunter's Love.’ Look at this picture/ 
Larry said, opening a worn and ragged paper, and 
showing a coarse cut of a small boy flourishing a 
revolver in each hand, and holding a dagger in his 
teeth, while two Indians lay dead near him, and 
he was kicking at a Chinese, whose hands were 
filled with playing cards. 

It’s boss ! ” cried Larry. “ Ted Malone saj^s 
that you can buy revolvers like that, dirt cheap, 
and Henry Schwatz showed us a rifle his father 
had in the war. If you want to get scalps ” 

‘‘ Father Raymond says that we ought not to 
read these things,” answered Ned, “he says they 
hurt boys’ minds.” 

“ What does he know ? ” exclaimed Larry. 

“ They never hurt my mind. Why, Henry 
Schwatz has one hundred and ten, and he can tell 
you all about trappers in the west, and how manj^ 
scalps a fellow could bring down in a week 
if ” 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


149 


Larry turned suddenly. John had entered 
from the other room. 

‘‘ Give me that paper ! 

Larry stuffed it into his pocket. 

John took hold of his arm. 

Give me that paper ! ” 

Larry threw the paper at him. 

“ There — take it ! It isn’t mine. It’s Ted 
Malone’s. You’re a mean curmudgeon to hurt a 
fellow’s arm. Why don’t you tackle a boy of your 
size ? ” 

John walked over to the stove and thrust the 
paper into the fire. 

Larry yelled and shook his fist at John. 

‘‘ I’ll make you pay for this,” cried Larry, 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself, to burn a 
fellow’s paper that way. Approach me again,” 
he continued, suddenly borrowing the language 
of some of his favorite authors, and I’ll brain 
you as you stand, perjured villain ! ” 

Larry had not the least idea of what per- 
jured villain” meant. But he flung the phrase 
at his brother with all his might. In spite of his 
feeling of disgust, that Larry should behave so 
badly, John had to laugh at this grandiloquence. 
The laugh hurt Larry worse than hard words, 
particularly as Ned joined in it. Larry began to 
cry. 


150 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ You don’t want us to have any fun at all. 
I’ll run away, John, if you don’t look out ! ” 

“ No, you will not,” said John, ‘‘ you’ll just 
step into the other room.” 

Larry ran towards the street door. John 
caught him, pushed him into the room, and locked 
the door. 

‘‘ You’ll stay there,” he said, firmly, until you 
promise to go to Father Raymond’s Catechism 
class.” 

Ned generally stood by John in his struggles 
with Larry ; but, in this case, he thought that 
J ohn ought not to have burned Teddy Malone’s 
paper. 

‘‘ Can’t Larry have any supper ? ” 

No he can’t,” said John. 

“ "Well, I think it is rather hard on a fellow. 
"What is the use of learning to read, if we can’t 
read what we like ! ” grumbled Ned. 

‘‘Look here,” answered John, helping his 
brother to several fried sausages, “ if you liked 
to eat rat poison, do you think I’d let you do it. 
That kind of reading is no better than rat poison. 
See what it has done for Larry. It has made him 
disobedient, and careless, and lazy, and idle. lie 
does not seem to have reverence for God or man. 
Last Sunday he was late for Mass, because he spent 
his time in reading one of his trashy stories. Now, 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


151 


do you think that because a boy learns to eat, he 
ought to be let poison himself. I don’t.’’ 

Ned made no answer. lie finished his sup- 
per in silence. 

Larry sang in a loud voice for some time, to 
show his indifference to John’s punishment. After 
awhile, John finished his part of the household 
work and buried himself in his books. Ned fin- 
ished his work and went to the Catechism class. 
He found that Ted Malone and Henry Schwatz 
were not there. Their brothers could give no ac- 
count of them. Father Raymond was worried by 
their absence. The day of the First Communion 
was quite near. 

‘^lam afraid bad reading is injuring these 
boys,” Father Raymond said to Tom Keefe, I 
hope you have given it up.” 

I don’t care for story papers at all now, 
answered Tom. Father reads that book you 
gave us, ‘‘Fabiola,” every night, and we don’t have 
time to read anything else. I say. Father, if some- 
body would read stories to us fellows sometimes, 
we would not care so much for story papers.” 

Father Raymond said in his heart, that he 
wished parents would read good books to their 
children. It would save much sin and sorrow. 

When Ned got home, he found John asleep 


152 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


over his Arithmetic. He was sleepy himself, and 
he asked John for the key of the bed-room. 

John awoke with a start. 

‘‘ Oh, it’s you, Hed,” he said, I thought it 
was Larry.” 

“ Larry’s locked in.” 

‘‘Yes, I remember. Good-night. I want to 
finish all these examples in interest, before I go to 
bed.” 

“ Good-night, John,” 

Hed unlocked the door of the bed-room and 
entered. 

“ Larry,” he said, softly. 

Ho answer. 

Hed struck a match. It flared up, and he saw 
that the bed was empty. He looked under the 
bed, lighting another match. Larry was not there, 
hiding, as he had done before, in order to alarm 
his brothers. In surprise, Ned lit the candle. No 
Larry. The window was wide open. 

“ He has gone ! ” Ned said. “ Oh, dear, what 
will John say?” 

His eye caught sight of a bit of folded paper 
on the table. He opened it. It was a scrawl done 
by Larry, with a red lead-pencil. It ran — 

“ Brothers, 

“ i rite to you in krimson ink which 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


153 


is the color of blud, it means bisness, it means 
that i am on the war path, you have driven me 
fourth by your persecutions of a noble mind, that 
hungers to scour the vast perarie planes and cut 
the scalps from Injin murderers of our household 
gods Fairwell. Goodbye, i go with a band of 
trusty friends to make a career in the wild west. 
If the Murphys say i gave them that penknife 
with the three blades, you take it from them, i only 
lent it to them. Dont have any fooling, just take 
it from them — fairwell till death do us part. 

L. Smythe, 

“ TRAPPER.’’ 

Ned ran out into the other room with this 
note. John read it and turning it over saw a few 
more lines — 

i go with T. Malone and H. Schwatz. We 
have trusty revolvers. Do not follow us. Per- 
soot will be vane. Again adoo ! ” 

‘‘Well, this is nice! I told you what bad 
reading would lead to. We may be thankful if 
these miserable boj^s haven’t stolen anything.” 

“ But, J ohn, what shall we do ! ” 

“ Let me think — might have known that 
Larry could easily get out on the fire escape, and 
climb down ; but, I did not think he was bad 
enough to do it. Go over to the Schwatzes’ and 
the Malones’ and find out where the boys are.” 

Ned ran off at once. 


154 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Ted Malone and Henry Schwatz were miss- 
ing. Ted had written with a red lead-pencil a 
few words on the back of a letter — 

‘‘ I go with the Red-handed Avengers. Ac- 
cept my blessing or my curse, as you will.” 

Ted’s father laughed at this, 
ril bless him,” he said, “ until he is black 
and blue.” 

And he went to the police station, to put the 
police on the track of the missing boys. Henry 
Schwatz’s mother was in tears. Henry had gone; 
where, she did not know. 

Ned was hurrying home, looking very pale 
and feeling very anxious, when he met Beppo 
Testa running along with his violin. Beppo had 
had a good day and he was whistling ; instead of 
running away from Ned, as he would have done 
some weeks ago, he stopped, smiling in a friendly 
way. 

“ I can pay you back soon,” he said. “ I have 
made two dollars playing for some young people 
to dance.” 

^‘Never mind,” answered Ned. ‘‘Nina’s talk 
about paying was all nonsense. I’ve lost Larry — 
tLat is, Larry has run away.” 

“ Run away ? ” echoed the Italian boy. 

“ Yes,and we don’t know where he has gone.” 

Beppo looked concerned. Ned felt that it 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK, 


155 


was pleasant to have sympathy just at that 
moment, and he felt, too, how little he deserved it. 

‘‘Well,’’ said Beppo, slowly, “I think I can 
help 3^ou. Wait.” 

He ran into his house and came out immedi- 
ately with Guiseppe, having left his violin with 
Filippo and Hina. 

Hina had heard him say, hurriedly, that Larry 
had run away. 

“The American boys are all crazy,” was 
Hina’s satirical comment. Hina had a sharp 
tongue. It was her great fault. 

Guiseppe seemed eager to help Hed. 

“I saw your brother and Schwatz,and Malone, 
going down-town with some big bundles, to-night. 
I told Beppo about it. They were in South Fifth 
Avenue.” 

While they were talking, they were joined by 
old Altieri, who came up out of his cellar. Beppo 
explained the trouble to the old man, who could 
not speak any English. 

Altieri asked several questions. 

Beppo’s face lighted up. 

‘^Ah,” he said, “ Signor Altieri has seen your 
brother at the Hew York side of the Jersey City 
Ferry.” 

“ At what time ? ” asked Hed. 

Beppo repeated the question to Altieri. 


156 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ At nine o’clock,” answered Altieri. 

‘‘ I must tell John, at once.” 

‘‘Will you let us go with you? ” asked Beppo, 
hesitatingly. “We would like to help you and the 
good John.” 

Guiseppe shook his head in consent. 

In the meantime, John had been asking ques- 
tions. Bnit nobody in the block had seen the boys, 
lie began to be seriously alarmed. What if Larry, 
led away by his daily companionship with young 
— although imaginary — thieves and law-breakers, 
had followed their examples? What if he had 
fallen into the bands of the police. John, while 
he went from neighbor to neighbor, asking after 
the boys, prayed that this might not be. 

He had returned to the house when Ned came 
in, followed by Guiseppe and Beppo. 

Ned breathlessly told John that the boys had 
been seen. A few questions, answered by the 
boys, convinced John that Larry had been near 
the Courtlandt Street Ferry. 

“We must go after them,” he said. “ Come, 
Ned — at once ! ” 

Guiseppe ran home to tell his people that he 
was going with J ohn. The delay seemed very 
long to John. At last they started. John could 
hardly restrain his impatience. They entered a 
horse car, and Beppo, who knew the driver, asked 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


157 


him to go quickly. The man laughed, for just 
then a stout woman with a basket insisted on get- 
ting in. She took her time, and she had hardly 
gotten into her seat, when a large party coming 
out of a house, stopped the car. They said good- 
bye to each other many times. Then several 
children had to be lifted in, and half a dozen bun- 
dles. John thought the car would never move. 
He felt like getting out and pushing it with his 
shoulder. 

At last the car started again. But every now 
and then somebody signalled it to stop. 

‘‘ Let’s get out and walk,” John said. 

‘‘ ITo,” said Beppo, we can not walk as fast 
as the car goes, in spite of the stops.” 

After a time — many hours it seemed to John 
— the boys reached Courtlandt Street. They 
crossed the ferry to Jersey City. Everything that 
was usually rapid in motion, seemed slow to-night. 
He thought that the ferry boat would never leave 
the slip. And when it did glide out into the river, 
it seemed almost stationary. It was going rapidly, 
but John’s impatience outstripped it. 

They reached Jersey City. It was dark ; the 
Pennsylvania railroad station glowed with light ; 
but the city, except for an occasional glimmer, 
seemed to be in gloom. 

It was arranged that Ned and Beppo should go 


158 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


into the station, to ask whether the boys had 
been seen by any of the railroad officials, while 
John and Guiseppe went into the city. 

John applied to a policeman. 

No; he had seen no boys like the ones do 
scribed. But then he had been on this beat only 
since half-past nine o’clock. Another policeman 
was asked, with no more effect. In a few minutes, 
Ned and Beppo came back. They had heard 
nothing of the boys. 

John began to believe that they were on the 
wrong track. 

They stood opposite the station, near the hotel, 
in consultation. Beppo did not join in it. He 
was thinking. 

He had noticed an Italian fruit-seller on the 
corner, as he came in. He proposed that John 
should ask him. John did. 

Boys ? He had seen many boys — many, many 
boys — he stretched out his hands to show how 
many boys he had seen — ^but not three boys of the 
kind described. 

John turned away. But Guiseppe was not 
so easily baffied. He spoke to the man in Italian. 

‘^Altro\^^ exclaimed the man. ‘‘I did not 
know you were Italian. I wish I had seen the 
boys, for your sake. What do you want them 
for?” 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


159 


‘‘ They have run away from home/’ 

It is too bad. Tell me how they looked ? ” 

Beppo described them again, in Italian. 

One might have had a rifle over his shoul- 
der,” he said, remembering that Henry Schwatz 
had probably carried his father’s rifle. 

‘‘ Ecco ! ” exclaimed the man. ‘‘ I have seen 
the boys ! ” 

Beppo rapidly translated the answer to John. 

‘‘ Where ? Where ? Tell me where ? ” cried 
John. 

The fruit-seller looked at him suspiciously. 
He asked Beppo whether his telling anything 
about the boys would cause him to be brought 
into court. “ For,” he said, ‘‘ I could not aflford 
to lose the time. I have no one to help me at the 
stand.” 

I promise you there will be no trouble.” 

Then the Italian told them that the boys — 
three in number, one with a rifle — asked him the 
way to the woods. The boys had gone straight 
on. This had happened only an hour before. 
The Italian told them where a belt of woods was 
— he knew it well — he went there for chestnuts in 
the fall. He told them how to get there. 

It is rather cold for camping out,” said Ned, 
shivering at the thought of such a thing. ‘^I 
wouldn’t like to try it.” 


160 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


John did not answer. In his eagerness, talk 
seemed a waste of time. 

***** 

Ted Malone, Henry Schwatz, and Larry had 
walked rapidly through the streets, towards the 
belt of woods mentioned by the Italian. Schwatz 
had three blankets strapped to his back, a small 
revolver, in his pocket, half a dollar, and his 
father’s rifle on his shoulder; Ted Malone had a 
knife — a table knife well sharpened — a loaf of 
bread tied up in a handkerchief, and two dollars. 
Larry had no weapon; but he had a thermometer, 
while the other boys looked on with much respect, 
four dollars, and a few odds and ends, broken but- 
tons, a hand-glass, &c., to be used in trading with 
those Indians, who should be cdtirageous enough 
to resist these mighty hunters. 

They had tramped along some distance, when 
Larry, who felt quite rich, proposed to have some- 
thing to eat. They entered a restaurant , and Larry 
paid for oysters and cigarettes, ‘‘ like alittle man,” 
as the other boys said. A half-hour was used up 
in this way. After this, they did not hurry. 
They felt in better spirits and loitered, looking 
into all the windows. 

A large grocery store, brilliantly lighted 
attracted them. 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


161 


We shall need some provisions,” said Henry 
Schwatz, looking through the large pane of plate 
glass. We ought to buy some. This is a good 
place.” 

The store was empty, apparently ; but behind 
the counter, in a corner, the proprietor of it sat 
dozing over a newspaper. He had sent his clerk 
off early and he was about to close the store for 
the night. 

There’s a lovely h im,^’ said Ted Malone, 
wish we had that. It wouldn’t be hard to 
carry and we could broil part of it for breakfast, 
you know.” 

Schwatz, who was of a prudent turn, counted 
his money and remarked that when they killed 
a deer or two, they would have meat enough. 
Still, the ham had attractions for Ted Malone. 

‘‘ Don’t you remember,” he said, as he pressed 
his nose against the glass, ‘‘how Red-headed Bob 
fooled the grocer out of half a cow in ‘ The Belle 
Of The Prairies.’ Bob went in, you know, and, 
while the grocer wasn’t looking, he hooked the 
beef and was off like a flash.” 

“ But that was stealing,” said Henry Schwatz. 

“ All’s fair in war, boys : now I say why 
shouldn’t we get that ham, just as Bob did the 
beef, hey ? ” 


162 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Ted tried to speak in a jolly way, but he was 
forced to avert his eyes from the others. 

“ "We’ve got to live on the world, you know, 
and we may as well begin at once,” he went on. 

Don’t be fools — Schwatz stole his father’s rifle, 
and you, Larry, have a dollar in your pocket that 
belonged to John.” 

Larry reddened and hung his head. 

Let’s toss up,” continued Ted, taking a cent 
from his pocket. Head, you hook the ham ; tail, 
I do it.” 

But it would be stealing,” said Schwatz. 
‘‘I’ll not do it.” 

“ Nobody asked you,” said Ted Malone, with 
a sneer. “ You haven’t got heart enough for it. 
But Larry has ; and I have. Who’s afraid ? 
There’s nobody in the store.” 

The man behind the counter had heard the 
whispers of the boys. He could not make out 
what they said ; but he seen they were plotting 
some mischief. He leaned back until the two 
piles of starch boxes between which he sat hid him 
entirely from view. 

Larry’s good angel whispered to him. He 
hesitated between the angel’s whisper and Ted’s 
sneer. He had read many times of how the smart- 
boy in the story papers had outwitted store-keepers, 
and appropriated their goods. He had laughed 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


163 


over their tricks, until he came to believe that 
stealing was not so bad after all. But his con- 
science awoke when the temptation was placed so 
boldly in his way. 

Ted Malone threw up the cent, giving it an 
adroit twist. 

‘^Head!’’ 

Larry moved uneasily from the window. 

‘‘ I tell you what,^’ Ted said, having taken 
another look at the inside of the shop. Why 
shouldn’t you take a handful of the cash out of the 
drawer. It would come in mighty well, while 
we’re traveling. You bet! ” 

Larry turned away his head. 

‘‘It will be easy enough. Schwatz and I 
will stand here and give the signal if anybody 
comes. Is’ow, go in ; be a man.” 

Ted Malone was twice as big as Larry. He 
was something of a bully, too, as the boys in the 
block well knew. He imitated as far as he could 
his favorite heroes, and knocked down any other 
boy who defied him. 

“ I can’t 1 ” said Larry. “ It would be wrong — 
it would break John’s heart.” 

“You’re a coward,” cried Ted, shaking his 
fist in Larry’s face. “ Do you think I’m going to 
let you spoil everything. Go in, I say 1 ” 

Larry hesitated. He had great respect for 


164 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Ted Malone’s superiority. He hated to have Ted 
think he was a coward. But he remembered the 
words of the commandment — ‘‘ Thou shalt not 
steal!” 

He’s afraid 1” sneered Ted Malone, angrily, 
‘‘You weren't afraid to take John’s dollar.” 

He said I might have to buy a hat with it,” 
answered Larry, ‘‘and I’ll buy one, or give him 
back the money.” 

“ You will, will you ? ” exclaimed Ted, as hk 
fist fell on Larry’s head. He raised his hand again 
to give another blow, when suddenly he was 
knocked over ; and Beppo, with flashing eyes, 
arose out of the darkness. His sharp eyes had 
seen the group of boys at the window. John and 
the others had turned down another street, but 
Beppo had kept on, in spite of their opposition to 
turning into a street which seemed so quiet. 

Beppo had crept softly up to the boys and 
heard their dialogue. His heart beat very fast 
when he saw that Larry was about to yield. He 
was afraid that the boys might run away, if they 
discovered him. He hoped that John and the 
others might come ; but they did not ; so he was 
obliged to do what he could. It was very effective. 

“ Beppo 1 ” Larry exclaimed. 

Ted Malone picked himself up and looked 
sullenly at Beppo, 


THE BOYS IN THE BLOCK. 


165 


‘‘ I owe one/’ he said and I’ll give it to you, 
if you don’t join our band.” 

Beppo’s eyes flashed. 

‘‘I will not join a band of thieves.” 

Ted shook his fist; but Beppo’s lesson had 
been severe enough to prevent him from doing 
anything more. 

I am glad you come, Beppo,” Larry said. 
“ I am sorry I got into this. I’d go back, if I 
thought John would forgive me. I don’t want to 
join a band of thieves either.” 

‘‘John!” cried Beppo. “John! John! 
John ! ” 

Ted Molone took to his heels. 

John came, running. Larry threw himself 
into his big brother’s arm and began to cry. 

“I’ll never read another story paper,” he 
sobbed. And he kept his promise. 

***** 

Ted Malone wandered about the country all 
night. In the morning, in trying to steal a ride 
on a passing train, he had his foot crushed so 
badly that it had to be cut off. He never speaks 
of that awful night of terror. He did not make 
his First Communion with the other boys, al- 
though Larry did. 


166 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Father Raymond says, with just pride, that 
there are no better-behaved boys in New York 
than the boys in tlie block. He now teaches the 
Catechism of rerseverance to the larger boys, and 
so well have they learned the meaning of Charity, 
that there is very seldom a fight among them. 
They are all growing prosperous, because they 
are all industrious and they all help one another. 
Often Beppo and Guiseppe come to John’s house 
for a little fun. 

John has been promoted, and though he still 
keeps house, Father Raymond gives him a lesson 
in Arithmetic twice a week. He is happy, as he 
deserves to be in the fact that his two “ boys ” are 
trying to do their duty. 



THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT; 


L 


HEN Johnny O’Neill was a little boy, his 



father gave him, on Christmas morning. 


XX a chest of tools. Johnny felt very happy 
when he saw the shining steel and new wood of 
the chisels, plane, and all the other instruments 
which a big, grown-up carpenter uses at his trade. 

But Johnny soon became tired of looking at 
his chest and its beautiful contents. He wanted 
to get to work. His mother would not have shav- 
ings in the parlor. The weather was very cold, 
and he could not work in the open air. Sarah, 
the servant, scolded when he took his tools into 
the kitchen. And so the ambitious young car- 
penter was made almost as unhappy, by the ob- 
stacles thrown in his way, as he had been happy 
at the sight of the tools, all his own. 

Johnny’s father saw that Johnny wanted 
something more ; but, being a very busy man, he 
did not think of asking what he wanted. 

‘^You cannot clutter up my kitchen with 
your trash,’^ said old Sarah. ‘‘ No, you can’t have 


168 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


the kitchen table when I’m not using it. I’m al- 
ways using it. Don’t bother me any more.” 

‘‘Now, Johnny,” said his mother, “ you must 
not play with your tools either in the parlor or 
the sitting-room. You might cut the furniture, 
and I can’t have shavings on the carpet.” 

Poor Johnny wondered why there was so 
much room in the house for furniture and carpets, 
and so little for a boy with a box of tools. 

“ Father gave them to me,” he said “ and I 
think I ought to use them somewhere.” 

“ I wish father had never given them to you ! ” 
replied his mother. 

Johnny felt like crying. It seemed rather 
hard to him. If his mother would only let him 
take the sitting-room carpet up, he was sure he 
could put it down again before evening came. 
But she would not. And there was the parlor ! 
Of what use was the parlor ? It was always cold 
in there ; nobody went into it except on Sunday, 
and when “ company ” came. His mother might 
let him have the parlor for a work-shop. Nobody 
else seemed to want it. 

Johnny did not go to school. The Catholic 
school, taught by the brothers, was too far away^ 
His mother taught him in the morning. The 
afternoon he had all to himself. The afternoons 
had been very dreary, since he had received the 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


169 


chest of tools. He could only look at them, and 
try their edges on pieces of kindling wood. 

The man who owned the place across the 
road went to work to put up a rough shed, in 
which to store potatoes, as his cellar had become 
damp. Johnny watched him eagerly. How he 
would have liked to help him ! But, when he 
dimed over the hillocks of hard snow, which lay 
between him and the farm across the road, and 
offered his services, the man laughed, and told 
him he was too small. 

Johnny, in spite of this rebuff, watched and 
admired him at his work. The man concluded 
to make a little house instead of a shed. He 
nailed up four boarded sides and cut a window, 
into which he put an old sash. When it was fin- 
ished, Johnny thought that it was one of the 
most beautiful pieces of work he had ever seen. 

Why could not he build one like it ? He had 
the tools. He had observed closely the manner in 
which the man had used his. There was no place 
for his tools in his father’s house ; he felt that he 
ought to build a work-shop of his own. 

There came a sudden spell of very cold 
weather, about the first of February. Johnny 
was kept in the house a great deal just then, be- 
cause his mother said he was delicate,” and 
that he might catch cold He thought and 


170 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


thought over the project of building a house for 
himself. He dreamed of his house. One night 
he dreamed that he had built his house behind 
the barn ; that it had two windows, a door, and 
a wooden step ; and that suddnly fire broke out 
in his father’s house. The fire consumed every- 
thing ; his father and mother were homeless ! 
Then Johnny said — 

‘‘ Come to my house, dear father and mother.” 

Your house! you haven’t any house.” 

Then Johnny (in his dream ) led the way to 
the little house behind the barn, and made a fire 
in the grate, and his father and mother kissed him, 
and said — 

‘‘ Oh, how sorry we are that we didn’t let you 
play in the parlor 1 ” 

Johnny awoke, and resolved to buy some 
boards. He had seven tj^-five cents in his bank. 
That sum, he thought, was more than sufiicient to 
buy all the boards he wanted. 

March came with some fine days. On one of 
these, Johnny, having obtained permission from 
his mother, went across the road to negotiate for 
timber. 


TIIi: HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


171 


II. 

The man across the way was putting a 
new handle to a shovel. He asked after Johnny’s 
father. Johnny was much struck by a hen-coop 
with a little steeple on it. 

Did you make that ? ” he said, admiringly. 

“ Oh, yes,” said the man. “ Hadn’t anything 
better to do. I’m fond of architecture.” 

Johnny thought how happy he would be if he 
could make a hen-coop like that. Then he spoke 
of his business. He wanted to buy enough of 
lumber to put up a little house, in which he could 
work with his tools. 

‘‘ For, you know,” he said, “ mother doesn’t 
like shavings on the parlor carpet.” 

‘‘Women folk particular,” said the man, 
pulling his sandy whiskers. I’ll tell you wha! 
I’ll do. I’ll put up a carpenter’s shop for you for 
two dollars a day and find the boards.” 

Johnny’s countenance fell. And the man 
continued — 

“ I’m not much of a carpenter, but I can do 
that. I wish we had a good carpenter down in 
these diggings. He’d find plenty to do.” 

Two dollars a day ! Where could Johnny get 
that fabulous sum ? 


172 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


“ I’ll come some other time,” he said. Good- 
bye ! ” 

Good-bye. Think about it, and let me 
know.” 

Johnny did think about it a great deal; but 
thinking did not increase his seventy-five cents to 
the amount demanded, by the man across the road. 

About this time, Johnny began to prepare to 
receive the Holy Eucharist. He was taken to the 
church three times every week; it was seven miles 
away. Finally he made his First Communion ; 
and, having been well instructed by his father, his 
mother, and Father Freno, he made it very fer- 
vently. For some weeks his anxiety about the 
carpenter’s shop disappeared. He was very happy. 

Johnny’s father resolved that, so soon as the 
Great Day was past, he would mark the event by 
a favor to his son. He asked Johnny what he 
wanted. 

‘‘ A carpenter’s shop,” Johnny said, seriously. 

His father laughed. 

‘‘Why, Johnny!” 

“ Yes, father, I want to learn to work, and I 
can’t work in the house without spoiling every- 
thing. I want to be a carpenter.” 

“ My dear Johnny,” said his father, “ I in- 
tend that you shall be a lawyer, like Mr. Squibbs, 
who goes by every morning on the fine gray horse, 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


173 


with a green bag on his arm. Study hard, Johnny. 
Ask for something else.’’ 

‘'But I want that most of all.” 

Johnny’s mother lifted her head from her 
work-basket. 

“ Did you take my scissors, Johnny? No, here 
they are. I don’t approve of Johnny’s cutting his 
fingers all to pieces in a <^arpenter’s shop He 
shall go to college by and by and become a 
great lawyer. Perhaps he may he President some 
day.” 

Johnny, unlike most boys now-a-days, had 
been taught to be very respectful to his father and 
mother. He was silent. 

“Do you hear that, Johnny?” asked his 
father. “ Or you may go into town every day, 
like your father, and have a real estate ofiice.” 

“I want to use my hands,” said Johnnj^. 
“ They’re no good to me now, except to play hall 
with in the summer. Suppose mother were to be- 
come an orphan — no, I mean a widow — ^what could 
1 do for her ? ” 

His father and mother both laughed. It was 
funny to see a small boy gravely considering such 
an important subject. 

At this moment there was a knock at the 
door, and Mrs. Angelica Smythe, a neighbor and 
friend of the O’Neills, entered. She was said to 


174 


STORIES OF DUTY 


have very elegant manners ; she smiled a great 
deal, and astonished the country people around 
her by the grandeur of the millinery she had, from 
New York. 

Mrs. O’Neill told her, with a smile, the sub- 
ject of the conversation. 

‘‘ Dear me ! cried Mrs. Smythe, with a smile 
that took in the whole party, it was so very wide. 
“ The boy has extremely low tastes. I intend my 
Augustus and Reginald for professions. Their 
father is only a farmer, but I hope that Augustus 
and Reginald will aim at something much higher. 
Matilda practices six hours a day at the piano-forte. 
When your Mary gets old enough, I would — if I 
were you — have her do the same.^’ 

Mary was just two years old. Mrs. O’Neill 
laughed. 

“ Mary will have to learn to be a good house- 
wife.’’ 

“ Nonsense,” exclaimed Mrs. Smythe. “ I 
can’t see where your Johnny got such low tastes. 
A carpenter ! — a mere mechanic ! Dear me ! ” 

St. Joseph was a carpenter,” said Johnny, 
getting red in the face. ‘‘ I don’t want to be a bet- 
ter man than St. Joseph.” 

There was a pause. Mrs. Smythe tossed her 
head until the beads on her bonnet rattled. 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


175 


You shall have your carpenter’s shop,” said 
Mr. O’Neill, after a thoughtful pause. 

He’ll cut his hands T’ cried Johnny’s mother. 

It would be better that he should cut his 
right hand off,’’ answered Mr. O’Neill, gravely, 
‘‘ than that he should grow up with idle or useless 
hands.” 

This comes of marrying an Irishman, Mrs. 
O’Neill,” said Mrs. Smythe. They have such 
low tastes ! ” 

Mr. O’Neill laughed; and Johnny laughed, 
too. Why not? Was he not to have his own 
little house ? 

Sarah, the servant girl, and all the neighbors 
said that Mr. O’Neill was very foolish, to indulge 
Johnny in his taste for carpentering ; and when 
he actually paid the man across the road two dol- 
lars a day, for a week’s work on Johnny’s shop, 
even Mrs. O’Neill shook her head. But Johnny 
was contented ; he helped to build the house. 

Smytheville was a very ‘‘genteel” place. 
There were only about twenty houses in the place, 
scattered through big and little farms. There 
was a railroad station of a fantastic pattern, and 
all the houses in Smytheville had, in imitation of 
the railroad station, been decorated with orna- 
ments of fantastic kinds. The people, except the 
man across the road, had hired men to work for 


176 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


them. There was a select ’’ school Avhere a great 
many useless things were taught. 

Mrs. O’Neill, like most mothers in Smythe- 
ville, had ambitious dreams for her son. She 
was engaged in economizing, that, after a time, he 
might be sent away to college. 

He already knew his declension of Latin 
nouns, and had even begun to conjugate ‘‘ Amo.” 
But the young Smythes were studying Greek, 
Latin, Geometry, Trigonometry, German, French, 
Mental Philosophy, Rhetoric, Physiology, and 
other things too numerous to mention. 


III. 

Time passed. Johnny had three maxims 
pasted up in his work-shop. 

Father Freno had given him this — 

<< Remember the presence of God and imitate St. .Joseph.^’ 

His father this — 

‘‘ Do everything as well as you can.” 

His mother this — 

“Speak kindly.” 

Father Freno said that the two latter were 
contained in his.^ for St. Joseph did even the 
smallest thing for the glory of God, and never 
spoke an unkind word. 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


177 


Johnny, having these maxims before him 
every day — he had written them in large red let- 
ters and pasted them upon his bench — did his best 
to put them in practice. He began by driving 
every nail carefully. “ Thoroughness was his 
motto. The Smythes and the other boys occasion- 
ally dropped in to see him at work. But, as 
Johnny did not read the flash story papers, and as 
he made them work when they came, their visits 
became less frequent. The aristocratic Smythes 
said he had the tastes of a mechanic, and then 
Sarah, whose tongue was rather sharp, told them — 

‘‘ They’d better go to work on the farm and 
help their father, instead of ‘ loafing ’ about and 
smoking cigarettes.^’ 

Johnny — or rather, John, as he liked to be 
called now — sometimes went to visit his cousin 
Frank, in town. Frank thought of nothing but 
theatres and novels and clothes. He had a drawer- 
ful of neckties of all colors. Just like a girl,” 
Johnny said, with some disdain. ‘‘He says, too, 
he doesn’t intend to kill himself with work so long 
as his ‘ governor ’ lives, and wonders why I should 
potter about my trade, when I have a rich father. 
Is father rich, mother ? ” 

“ ITo, indeed,” said his mother. “But I think 
he and I together, will be able to send you to col- 
lege next year.” 


178 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘ Thank yon, mother/’ John said. 

He was fond of books. But, being a boy of 
common-sense, he had already seen that much 
misery comes because people do not learn to earn 
their living — because they spend all the money 
they have for oranges and almonds, and have noth- 
ing left to pay for the solid parts of their dinner. 

John’s mother had never become quite recon- 
ciled to the carpenter’s shop, until he made her a 
pretty cabinet of ebonized wood, nicely carved, for 
John had added wood-carving to his other accom- 
plishments. Then he had done so many odd jobs 
so neatly, that she began to feel that it was not 
such an evil, after all, to have a son with mechanical 
tastes. 

John had read all the books he could get, on 
wood-carving, and he was becoming an adept. He 
had just put the finishing touches to a hat-rack, 
intended as a Christmas gift to his father, when 
that dear, good father died. It was very sudden. 
Mr. O’Neill went from home early in the morning ; 
he was brought home dead at noon. He had kept 
himself prepared for death. This was the great- 
est consolation to his beloved ones. He had 
received the Body and Blood of Our Lord on the 
Sunday before he died. 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


179 


IV. 

Mr. O’JsTeiirs business affairs were found to be 
in a complicated condition. lie bad worked hard ; 
but Smytheville and the neighboring town to^ 
gether, did not give him a great deal to do. lie 
had lived up to his income. This bad not troubled 
him, because, being a healthy man, he had expected 
to live many years to come. 

The truth was that, when Mr. O’Neill’s debts 
were paid, there was little left, except the furniture 
of the house in which his family lived. 

They had three months in which to look 
around them.” After that, the house and lot 
would pass to strangers. Mrs. O’Neill had still 
the little sum in bank, intended for John’s course 
in College. That, of course, must be given up now. 
This thought cost Mrs. O’Neill many bitter tears. 

John thought a great deal and prayed a great 
deal. Nobody knew about the latter, though ; he 
didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve “ for daws to 
peck at.” 

There was the sum of five hundred dollars in 
bank. How was this to be made to help his mother 
and Mary along in the world ? 

The Smythes had a two-acre lot for sale. 
They wanted two hundred dollars for it. John 
said to himself, “ I will buy it and build a house. 


180 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Stone is cheap around here, and I can get all the 
wood I want for very little money.” 

Mrs O’Neill would not consider this at first. 
John build a house. Ridiculous! Little Mary 
thoughtit funny, too. At last, however, when John 
showed that they must be without a house, if he 
did not build it, Mrs. O’Neill consented. 

All Smytheville thought John crazy, when he 
went to work himself one spring day, with the 
man across the road, to build his house. 

The Smythe boys told everybody how much 
they despised a boy, who liked to work as if he 
were a “ foreigner,” instead of going in ” for 
more suitable pursuits. They dropped him out of 
the Smytheville Base-ball club, and when he went 
to the meeting of the singing-school, the Smythe 
girls declared that they didn’t want “ laborers 
and mechanics” coming there. Others, led by the 
Smythes, did similar things. The O’Neills were 
soon left alone. John did not care for this. At 
night he studied, when he was not too tired, or 
read aloud to his mother and Mary. 

In July, John had very hard, rough hands 
and thick muscles; the man across the road had 
some money in his pocket, and Mrs. O’Neill had a 
pretty dark-stone house, two-story high, ‘‘pointed” 
with white mortar. John had been verj" careful 
with the mortar, and had made it fresh every day ; 
so his house was well put together. 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


181 


The wood-work in the interior was unlike 
ordinary wood-work. John had driven every nail 
with care and love. It had taken him six months, 
instead of three, to build his house ; he had done 
several jobs of carpentry for the neighbors, and 
put together a cabinet for an old friend of his 
father in the town. His jobs had brought him 
nearly eighty dollars. In the meantime, Mrs. 
O’JTeill and Mary ‘‘boarded’’ with the family 
that had taken their old house. 


V. 

John’s mother was pleased with the new house. 
“ It had so many closets,” she said. There was a 
little sideboard in the dining-room, and a dumb- 
waiter, worked by an ingeniously constructed pul- 
ley, that lifted dishes from the kitchen. These and 
other improvements soon attracted the curious 
neighbors. The Smytheville houses, although or- 
namental without, were not particularly comfort- 
able within; so John’s labor-saving devices were 
soon noised abroad. His was a little house, built 
with many fears and in the face of obstacles that 
would have discouraged anybody who was not 
“thorough,” and who was inclined to think of his 
own ease or comfort. 


182 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


The house that John O’Neill built was even 
noticed in the town newspapers. It was much for 
a boy of seventeen to have done. It did not seem 
much to him. 

At last, his mother and sister had a home. 

The first night they spent there was a happ}^ 
one. Father Freno came over and blessed the 
house. They had a nice little tea-party, and Mrs. 
O’Neill’s waffles added life to the occasion. 

And now I must work hard,” said John to 
the priest. If anybody wants a box or a barn 
built in this county, I’m your boy, Father.” 

Mr. Smythe put John to work at mending 
his fences. He had not time to do it himself, and 
he did not dare to ask his boys to do it. John 
went about it cheerfully, and did it well. Just at 
this time, Augustus and Reginald Smythe were 
lounging about the farm, having been graduated 
from the select ” school. Their father had no 
money with which to pay for them at college. 
They were on his hands. 

‘‘I don’t know,” he said witha sigh, ‘‘whether 
education amounts to much, if there is no ‘grit’ 
with it. That O’Neill boy works like a bee.” 

He has low tastes,” answered Mrs. Smythe, 
helping her husband to a slice of roast beef. 
“ Your boys are gentlemen. I’m so tired of getting 
up these big dinners for the farm hands, I think 
we’ll have to get another servant.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT. 


183 


‘‘ I can’t pay my debts now,” said Mr. Smythe, 
with a worried look. Matilda ought to help 
you.” 

‘‘ Matilda ! ” cried Mrs. Smythe, dropping the 
carving knife. Matilda must practice, and she has 
painted a volcano in action, which is beautiful — 
beautiful ! ” 

Mr. Smythe groaned. 

If I should die, what would you do ? The 
boys couldn’t look after you, as that O’Neill boy 
has done.” 

‘‘Don’t compare r^swith John O’Neill,” said 
Reginald Smythe. “ Mother, I wish you wouldn’t 
be so vulgar as to offer me soup twice. It’s not 
good form, jon know.” 

“Dear me ! ” said the mother. “ I’ll remember 
that next time.” 

“ I hear that lawyer Squibbs has hired young 
O’Neill to make all the frames, doors, and windows 
for his new house. That ought to bring him five 
hundred dollars,” said Mr. Smythe. 

“ Let the carpen ter stick to his plane,” sneered 
Augustus Smythe. 


VI. 

It is spring time. The honeysuckles cluster 
around the house that John built. Ten years have 


184 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


passed, and Mrs. O’Neill, with many more wrinkles 
in her face, but looking calm and placid, sits on 
the porch. Mary has brought her a cup of tea 
and some rolls. Mary is a sweet, gentle-looking 
girl, who looks very pretty as the sunset color 
touches her usually pale cheek. 

Mrs. O’Neill and Mary are very contented. 
John has left them ; but, strange as it may seem, 
they are glad that he has gone ; for every week there 
comes a letter from the seminary, in which he is 
studying to become a priest. The dream of Mrs. 
O’Neill’s life will soon come true — the answer to 
the prayer of her later years will soon be granted. 
On the day of John’s ordination, there will be no 
happier woman in Christendom than John’s mother. 

The house that John built is hers, the little 
farm at the back of it is hers, too, bought through 
John’s industry ; and there is a snug sum in bank 
to her credit. 

The Smy thes disappeared five years ago. Mr. 
Smythe could not stand the strain of hard work, 
and he sold the farm. His sons went to the nearest 
city, where they have joined that large class, the 
‘‘ genteel ” lounger, wdio are afraid to steal, who 
will neither beg nor do any manual labor. 

So we say ‘‘ good-bye ” to the happy mother 
and sister, that sit in the house that John built ! 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


L 


ELEN’A came to Cincinnati with her grand- 
Vl mother, in the month of December of last 

Lyear. Her grandmother loved Helena so 

much, that Helena loved her grandmother almost 
as well as her mother. 

Six years ago Helena’s father and mother 
came to Cincinnati, bringing with them their other 
three children. But the old grandmother — ^Frau 
Ida, pronounced in the German way '^eeda” — 
would not let her dear grandchild leave her ; so 
rather than leave the good grandmother sad and 
lonely, Helena was left behind with her. 

It was a sad time for the poor German peo- 
ple in the province where Frau Ida and her little 
granddaughter lived — a sad, sad time. Prince 
Bismark and his followers had exiled many of 
their priests, and deprived others of their churches. 
There was no Mass, there were no Sacraments for 
the people of the village. But Frau Ida’s house 


186 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


and plot of ground were there, and hoping for bet- 
ter times, she stayed there, too. 

Every month she went to a big city, many 
miles away, where she could hear Mass, and her 
little charge went with lie'.\ But this could not 
always be, the distance was very great and often 
the weather was bad. 

Helena, however, made her First Communion ; 
and young as she was, the persecutions to which 
she saw religion subjected, made her love it more 
and long to die for it. Like the old pagan Homans 
v^lio were proud to say, ‘‘We are Homan citizens,” 
Helena felt her face flush when she said — 

“ I am a Catholic.” 

It seemed to Frau Ida that the good times 
when the priests would come back, and the church 
bells ring out again, and the crowds kneel at 
Benediction, were very far off, long as she had 
waited for them ; so one day she said to Helena — 

“Wouldst thou like to go to America, thou 
dear child ? ” 

They were in the kitchen — the dear old 
kitchen that Helena loved so much. Frau Ida 
sat in her carved arm-chair. She was knitting, 
and the kitten was hiding behind the stove wait- 
ing for her to drop her ball of yarn. The hands 
of the clock in the wall pointed to three. Frau 
Ida had just drunk her usual cup of coffee ; all 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


187 


was quiet and peaceful. Helena could scarcely 
believe that her grandmother had asked her this 
question. Go to America — far, far away from the 
dear Fatherland. It was almost too much for her 
to grasp. She threw her arms around her grand- 
mother and kissed her. The ball of worsted fell 
upon the floor, and the kitten was happy. 

Must I leave thee, grandmother ? ’’ 

Ho, no, my child,” said Frau Ida ; “ I will 
go with thee.” 

Helena put her face close to her grandmother’s 
and whispered — 

‘‘ I am afraid of the Indians and the buffaloes, 
grandmother.” 

Frau Ida smiled. 

“ Thy father wrote to me that the cities in 
America are larger than our village, and that 
he has never seen an Indian in Cincinnati. 
There are churches there, wherein the Holy Mass 
is said, and many good priests. It is a beautiful 
country.” And Frau Ida began to sing in her 
sweet, low voice — 

Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluhn 
( Know’st thou the land where the lemons bloom ? ) 

Helena joined in, for singing was with her 
and her grandmother a second language. 

Ach, it is a beautiful country ! Thou shalt 
see oranges and lemons in the streets and won- 


188 


STORIJIS OF DUTY. 


drous trees, and the golden sun all day long, and no 
rain. It is a strange land, too. The house-wives 
do not work in the fields or drive the cattle, but 
sit in their cottages and sew with their feet ! ’’ 
Have they no hands, grandmother ? 

I do not know,’’ answered Frau Ida, picking 
up the ball of yarn. ‘‘ Thy father did not say. 
They have curious machines which help them to 
sew faster than I — when I was young — could sew 
with my hands.” 

Helena’s eyes became round as saucers. 

“ But we shall see father and mother ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, beloved child.” 

At this moment Herr Wilhelm, the chapel- 
master, who was to buy Frau Ida’s cottage, entered 
and Helena ran upstairs to think about this 
beautiful new country, and to pray in her oratory. 


II. 

Frau Ida and Helena had a pleasant voyage. 
Helena’s father met them at Castle Garden. 

There, among the crowd of immigrants rush- 
ing forwards and backwards, he found them keep- 
ing guard over their trunks and bundles. Several 
steamers had come in that week. Groups of men 
in long coats and queer caps were smoking pipes. 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


189 


and lounging on the benches around the enormous 
building. Women and babies were quite numer- 
ous. Some of the people were chatting and 
laughing, others looked very anxious, as if they 
were looking for friends. It was warm inside, but 
the smells of the place made Helena think that 
America was not such a sweet country after all. 
It was about noon, and everybody seemed hungry. 
There was a large group gathered around the 
refreshment stand, where busy clerks sold sausages, 
sandwiches, pies, beer and other things much rel- 
ished by the immigrants after their long sea- 
voyage. 

Frau Ida, tightly clasping Helena’s hand, 
eagerly watched each passer-by. Perhaps her dear 
Casper should miss her ! While she was waiting, 
she noticed a young woman with a child in her 
arms — a pale, thin woman, very anxious looking 
and weary. Helena had been looking at her, too. 
Her eyes seemed glued to the door through which 
friends or relatives were hurrying into the place. 
The little child in her arms seemed tired. It had 
pretty blue eyes, with long lashes, and short yel- 
low hair. 

Helena asked her grandmother if she might 
speak to the baby. Having gotten permission, she 
kissed the little girl. The mother smiled, and 
said in German — 


190 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘ God bless thee, child. I have waited three 
days for my husband, but he has not yet come. 
Oh, I pray that he is not dead ! ” 

Helena poured out some milk she had bought, 
and offered to the little one, who drank it. 

‘‘ She is hungry ! ’’ cried Helena. Dear lit- 
tle angel ! ’’ And she at once began to fill the 
child’s mouth with sausage. 

Frau Ida interfered Thou wilt kill the child, 
Helena. Thou hadst better feed the mother, who, 
no doubt is liungry.” The mother ivas hungry,and 
in the pleasure of filling her lunch-basket and 
trying to make her comfortable, Frau Ida and 
Helena forgot their own anxiety. 

They found that the best way to lighten their 
own care, was to take on themselves the sorrow of 
this poor woman. They had succeeded in making 
a bed for the baby on a bench, near a big stove, 
when two arms were thrown around Frau Ida. 
She turned quickly. It was Casper, her son. He 
was a big, strong man, with a heavy beard and a 
kindly smile. Soon it was Helena’s turn to be 
buried in that beard and overcoat. 

She scarcely remembered her father ; but she 
knew that this man was he. He looked so good, so 
kind ! 

The poor mother, with the child, burst into 
tears as she saw their joy. 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


191 


‘‘ It is well — it is well ! ” she said. ‘‘ But I 
wish that my beloved Hans was here. I have 
waited and watched for him, every hour for three 
days. I could not eat, I could not drink, I could 
only watch. 

Helena’s father asked her husband’s name. 

Hans Schwartz,” from Bavaria ; he lived 
in Illinois. She had lost the name of the place. 
He was a farmer. 

Casper made all the inquiries he could. For 
he spoke English remarkably well ; but nobody 
knew anything of Hans Schwartz ; so the happy 
three had to leave the poor woman and her baby. 

Frau Ida, who was very careful and seldom 
gave much away, left her a warm shawl, and 
Helena slid a package of oranges and bananas, her 
father had given her, into the woman’s basket. 
It was a sacrifice for Helena. She had never seen 
a banana before, and had never eaten an orange. 
They were very frugal people in the village where 
she lived, and such luxuries were only for the 
rich merchants in the cities. 

Frau Ida and Helena were made almost 
speechless by the succession of wonders that 
met their view. Imagine the amazement with 
which they saw railroads running over the heads 
of the people, tall buildings, and the hurrying 
crowds on Broadway ! 


192 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


But by the time they reached Cincinnati, 
they were weary of surprises. 

At the railroad station Helena’s mother 
waited, with a beating heart, for the dear little 
girl. Over and over again she had asked herself, 
‘‘Would the time ever pass? Would the mo- 
ment ever come, when she could clasp Helena to 
her heart?” Her three boys were there, too, 
waiting to meet their sister. When the train 
came in, what a happy group they were ! 


III. 

Helena’s father had bought a plot of ground 
near the river. He was very well content with 
the profit it yielded him. Accustomed in his 
native country" — where land is dear — to make, by 
constant industry, every inch of earth bear some- 
thing useful, he farmed his small lot as if it were 
a garden. He raised vegetables and took them 
to market himself. His neighbors were astonished 
at the prices b^ got for his potatoes, cabbages, 
and tomatoes. 

“ How do you do it ? ” they often asked. 

Hard work and care do it,” he would an- 
swer, with a laugh. 

Every Sunday and on the first Friday of 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


193 


every month, the family were seen at early Mass. 
And Casper never went to bed without saying the 
rosary, in the presence of his wife and children. 
The boys were as hard-working as their father. 
Casper always said that the reason he saved money 
was because his boys worked for him, while the 
sons of neighbors went into the city to seek places 
in offices. 

Casper’s house was comfortable and warm 
and clean. Helena was permitted to put her statue 
of the Blessed Virgin in a niche in the room pre- 
pared for her, and to surround it with candles and 
flowers. 

Helena was treated like a little lady for the 
flrst week. Then she went to work, and she found 
plenty to do. There were chickens to feed, po- 
tatoes to be washed — for Casper always sent 
his vegetables to market nicely cleaned and ar- 
ranged in neat baskets — many things to be done. 
Helena was just the little maid to do all this. 
While her grandmother knitted endless stockings, 
sometimes sighing a little for the old home, 
Helena bustled about like a happy bee. 

All went well. Casper built a big green- 
house, and his grapes were beautiful to behold. 
At Christmas Casper thinned them out some- 
what, and so pleased was he with the amount he 
received for them, that he built more green-houses 


194 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


and spent all the money he had saved, in stocking 
them with rare varieties of grapes. The green- 
houses were delightful in the winter days. Leaves 
and tendrils hid the frosty landscape without from 
view. 

Casper said that Frau Ida and Helena brought 
him good luck. And Frau Ida alwaj^s replied 
that whatever God sends is good. 

February came. Constant rain fell. Heavy 
mists veiled the earth. The sunsets presaged 
damp weather. Gleams of sunshine were once 
or twice reflected in the clouds ; but they seemed 
to be rapidly quenched by the mist and rain. 

The river began to rise ; Casper laughed at the 
neighbors who said that if the rains continued, 
there w^ould be a flood. Things had gone so well 
with him that he feared no evil. He smoked his 
pipe and went about his work as good-humoredly 
as usual. Frau Ida put on her spectacles, looked 
at tlie falling rain and misty river, and shook her 
head. 

‘‘We have no floods at home,’’ she said, 
“whei. the snowmelts under late winter rain, 
because we have the forests ; but wheVe are your 
forests ? ” 

For the first time Casper looked seriously 
at the river. It had risen much ; there was no 
doubt of that. Farmer Brown dropped in to 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


196 


tell him that there was great alarm in the city, 
and that many people had deserted their houses 
and gone to higher ground. If the rain kept up, 
he said, there would be awful times, for the flood 
would be worse than even last year’s. 

The last year’s flood had not hurt Casper, so 
he was still indifferent. But that night, sitting 
beside his hearth and smoking his pipe, he was 
more silent than usual. The rain fell drip, drip, 
drip on the roof. The river’s flow made an 
ominous and unusual sound. What if the flood 
should rise ? Casper knew that if it once reached 
the level of the terrace on which his lot was situ- 
ated it would cover all he possessed. He thought 
of the heavy bunches of grapes in the green-house 
for which an owner of one of the city hotels had 
promised to pay him a snug sum. Suppose the 
flood should come and the result of his labor be 
swept away. 

Frau Ida read her son’s thoughts. 

‘‘ What God sends,” she said, is well sent, 
my son.” 

Casper tried to say the rosary with a tran- 
quil mind. 

The next day dawned through mist and rain. 
The water still continued to rise. Boats began to 
move over ^arms, and here and there a chimney, 
a telegraph pole, or the top of a high tree show- 


196 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


ing above the water, bore testimony that the river 
had swept far beyond its banks. The family 
gathered together their household goods. To- 
morrow, if the rain did not cease, they would 
move to higher ground, and take lodging with 
Farmer Brown. 

That night was an anxious one. But Cas- 
per’s family were all too industrious during the 
day to keep awake long at night. About twelve 
o’clock there was a loud crash against the walls 
of the house. And then the glasu of Frau Ida’s 
window was broken violently. 

If you don’t want to be drowned in your 
beds,” said Farmer Brown, come out at once.” 

Farmer Brown sat in a boat about a foot 
below the sill of the window of the second story. 
He held a lantern high above his head. 

‘‘ You’ll have to come quick, too,” he cried, 
“ for the floating timber will dash me to pieces 
if I stay here.” 

Another crash. A huge tree, torn up by the 
flood,.had struck the corner of the house. Casper 
and his sons dressed hastily. The women of the 
family had not changed their clothes. They 
quickly seized such bundles of necessary articles 
as they could get, and then they^ were helped into 
the boat. It almost broke Frau Ida’s heart to 
have to leave her old carved chest in the house, 
but of course Farmer Brown would not take it. 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


197 


The scene, with the house and green-house 
half buried in the flood, was a strange one. It 
was dark, but here and there, from passing floats, 
flashed lights. A dull roar broke the quiet of 
the night. To step into the boat from the win- 
dow required unusual courage on the part of 
Helena. All was dark below her. As she 
dropped into the boat, it seemed as if she were 
to fall into a black pit. Helena saw her grand- 
mother and mother get into the boat. The boys 
were already at the oars. The father stood, with 
his arms upraised, to catch her when she jumped. 
She hesitated. 

Come ! ” cried her father. 

There was a sudden blast of wind ; a louder 
roar of waters. Farmer Brown lost his grasp on 
the wall of the house, his lantern fell into the 
water, and Helena jumped. 

At that instant the boat was wheeled away 
in a huge mass of drift-wood, and Helena fell 
into the rushing stream. 

When she came to the surface, darkness and 
cold were around her. She kept her hand under 
water, and saw at a glance that she was not far 
from the lighted window of her father’s house. 
She could not reach it; it was too far away. 
She w^as not frightened. How troubled they 
would all feel about her, she thought. And then, 
if her mother could never find her body ! 


198 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Then the weight of her clothes seemed to 
drag her down again. She grasped the little 
medal of Lourdes that hung around her neck, 
and began the Act of Contrition — 

0 my God, I am heartily sorry for all my 
sins — ” And she went down. 

Before she had quite realized it, she found 
herself tightly grasping the window-sill of her 
father’s house. Helena had strong arms. In an 
instant she had drawn herself up and climbed in 
through the open window. Once in, she fainted. 
She was almost frozen when she recovered. It 
did not take her long to get warm clothes on. 
It happened that the only change of clothes she 
had was the gala costume she had worn on the 
Feasts of the Church in her native village. She 
knelt before the image of the Help of Christians, 
who had saved her when death seemed to be in- 
evitable. Ho human hand was near; her best 
friends had been carried away by the flood, but 
her Mother was always near. Helena thanked 
the dear Child Jesus for giving her such a 
mother. 

Until daylight the storm raged and the flood 
rose. Helena was driven up into the attic. 
There, like an imprisoned dove, she sat on the 
wide window-seat watching the flood beneath her, 
and praying that the dear ones might be safe. 


A CHILD OF THE FLOODS. 


199 


When daylight came, Helena saw strange 
objects float past ; a baby’s cradle empty, a horse 
struggling with the flood, a raft with a whole 
family upon it, and lastly a table turned upside 
down was pushed against the house and jammed 
there by drift-wood. And in this table, wrapped 
in a shawl, was a little child. Helena bent out 
the window and seized it with both hands. The 
little waif, quite warm in its wrap, smiled and 
caught Helena around the neck. 

Helena recognized at once the shawl upon 
this little child. It was the one her grandmother 
had given to Mrs. Schwartz at Castle Garden. 

Helena hugged the little creature very tight, 
and prayed now that somebody might come to 
save her and her charge. The little girl was the 
same blue-eyed, golden-haired little creature, and 
she seemed to know Helena. 

****** 
“Ach, mein Liebchen ! ” 

It was Frau Ida who spoke. Helena and the 
baby were kissed and embraced by about a hun- 
dred people, grouped in Farmer Brown’s high and 
dry barn. 

The boat had been unable to approach the 
house during the hours of darkness, on account 
of the rushing drift and the need of rescuing 
others, who, like Casper’s family, had been sur- 


200 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


prised by the flood. But at last it had reached 
the house. 

Shall I tell you how happy Casper was when 
he saw Helena’s face at the window ? 

Shall I tell you how the boys yelled? 

Shall I tell you how the mother and grand- 
mother wept and thanked God ? 

But I cannot. Put yourself in Helena’s place 
and fancy it all. 

So far, the mother of the little baby has not 
yet appeared to claim it. If she is dead, Helena 
will take care of it. She asked her father if she 
might, and he said, “ Yes.” 

I can tell you, however, that when the flood 
went down Casper had much to be thankful for. 
Some of his green-houses^ built on a high knoll, 
had not been touched by the rising water. The 
grapes were safe, although the green-house near 
the dwelling was destroyed. 

Kind people helped him; and, with strong 
hands and willing hearts and trust in God, they 
are getting ready to build up all that the flood 
tore down. 

As for Helena, she grasps tight her ‘‘ child 
of the flood.” It is due to the Mother who saved 
her that she should be a mother to this little one. 

And her father, poor as he is, says she is 
right. 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


THE NICEST PEOPLE IN THE MARKET. 

r\ \HE old market was not a pleasant sight at 
night. Rats ran in and out among the 
-- wooden stalls. Broken baskets and heaps 
of refuse vegetables lay on the brick walk. The 
bright red of the tomatoes, the green of the 
apples, and all the colors which make a well- 
kept market pleasant to look at, were absent 
at night. 

There were no flowers on Mrs. Jameson’s 
counter; her roses and geraniums were under 
shelter. The old man who sold grated horse- 
radish had gone home. Mrs. Jameson and the 
old horse-radish man were the nicest people in 
the market, except Mr. Kalbfleisch, the butcher, 
who always gave the Little Sisters of the Poor 
an overflowing hamper, and was very rough and 
kind to everybody. 

Mr. Kalbfleisch was a ruddy man — why are 
butchers always ruddy men ? — and he growled 
constantly. But if you looked into his eyes when 
he said ‘‘No,” you could easily see that he meant 


202 


STORIES OP DUTY. 


‘"Yes.’’ Some people were afraid of him, and 
he knew it. He liked people to think he was a 
bear. 


II. 

THE ORPHANS. 

When Charles O’Meara left Ireland with his 
two boys, Charley and Willie, everybody in Bally- 
gow said it was a good thing to do. His wife had 
died two years before. He was a strong man and 
an honest man ; he had worked on a farm near 
Ballygow, and everybody in Ballygow said that 
a strong, honest, industrious man like Charles 
O’Meara, had only to cross the ocean to make a 
fortune. He had only enough money to pay his 
passage and a pound or so above that, but he 
went, and the two boys with him. 

Charley Avas ten and Willie eight years of 
age. They were good boys — more obedient than 
boys usually are, and they loved their father de- 
votedly. 

Their father, after landing at Castle Garden, 
found a place to board for himself and the boys, 
in Greenwich Street, with a kind Irish family. 
This kind family did not ask him for any money 
at first. He might wait two or three weeks, until 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


203 


he found a job.’’ He found a job at last. He 
found, too, that things had changed in America, 
and that jobs were hard to get. But he earned 
enough to pay the boys’ board and his own, and, 
after a time, Mr: Kalbfleisch, who was never tired 
of saying he hated the Irish, had Charley and 
Willie employed in sweeping out the market twice 
a week. 

At first, the boys were afraid of the butcher. 
But, as poor Mr. O’Meara began to grow sick 
from hard, ceaseless carrying of the hod up 
shaking ladders, they got into a habit of telling 
their sorrows to Mr. Kalbfleisch, who boarded in 
the same house. And, when Mr. O’Meara and 
the boys took a room of their own, and kept 
house for themselves, the butcher had acquired 
a way of saying — 

^‘Take that sirloin steak home, you young 
rascals. You’re no use except to eat and be lazy. 
Go, or I’ll lose patience ! ” 

On these occasions, which became more fre- 
quent, as Mr. O’Meara grew paler and the red 
flush on his cheeks redder, Charley would cook 
the steak in his best manner. But it made the 
poor boys’ hearts ache to see how little their 
father ate. Soon the time came when Mr. 
O’Meara could do no work. He lay still in the 
close little room, his face growing whiter, his 


204 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


eyes brighter, and his cheeks more flushed than 
ever. 

Mrs. Jameson used to send a bunch of 
flowers to him every day. He always asked 
Charley to put it in front of the statue of the 
Blessed Virgin on the mantel-shelf. Only one 
thing seemed to trouble him. What would be- 
come of the boys? He knew too well the dam 
gers that surrounded them in a big tenement- 
house. He knew the temptations that lay in 
wait for them. 

“ Oh,” he said, over and over again, I wish 
I could take the boys with me ! Why did I ever 
leave Bally gow? Sure they, were safer there, 
among their own people, where a bad word or a 
curse was never heard ! Oh, why did we come 
at all, at all ? ” 

‘‘ Bunder und blitzen ! ” Mr. Kalbfleisch 
would exclaim, when he heard Mr- O’Meara cry 
out in this way. ‘‘You shut up, old man. I’ll 
see that the young good-for-nothings get enough 
to eat when you’re gone.” 

“ But who’ll see that they go to Mass and to 
confession. Mr. Kalbfleisch, you’re a good friend, 
but can’t look after the boys’ religion.” 

Mr. Kalbfleisch grunted. He said he was a 
Protestant, but he never went to church. 

“ What do they want of religion ? ” he asked. 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


205 


Religion doesn’t pay. I’m as good a man as 
anybody I know, but I’m not religious.” 

Mr. O’Meara shook his head. 

You’re a kind man, Kalbfleisch, and you’ve 
many prayers from the Little Sisters to help keep 
you straight, but a time will come when your nat- 
ural goodness will give way, if religion doesn’t 
support it.’' 

Mr. Kalbfleisch laughed. 

Two days after this dialogue Mr. O’Meara 
died, longing with his last breath for Ballygow, 
and praying that the boys might rather die than 
commit a mortal sin. 

Poor boys ! ^ On the night of the funeral 
they had to sweep out the market as usual. 
Tired with weeping, they fell asleep beneath the 
stars. They dreamed of their father, and awoke 
with a shiver, to find him dead. 


III. 

AN INCIDENT. 

Charley and Willie, after a time, forgot their 
first grief. But they did not forget their father. 
Charley’s Sunday jacket had become threadbare, 
and he was slowly saving up his spare cash to 


206 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


buy a new one. He did not buy it, however; 
for, when the fall came, he concluded that his 
overcoat would cover it ; and he went to Father 
Maguire and made his savings an offering for 
Masses for his father’s soul. 

The priest did not want to take the money. 

“ Sure, Father,” Charley said, “ there’d be no 
need in my having the Masses said, if I didn’t 
deny myself something. If you say the Masses, 
your charity would be helping father’s soul out 
of purgatory, not mine. And you need money, 
Father. Sure, old Pat Regan couldn’t have paid 
his license for selling cigars in the market, if you 
hadn’t helped him. And, if you hadn’t the money 
to help him, he’d have starved ! ” 

Father Maguire reddened. The paying of 
old Pat Regan’s license was one of the good deeds 
his left hand was always doing without the knowl- 
edge of his right. 

Charley and Willie kept the old room. 
Through the good offices of the old horse-radish 
man, whose son was a telegraph operator in the 
Western Union building, Willie got a place as 
district messenger. He looked very well in his 
neat blue uniform. It was a dangerous occupa- 
tion, for he was obliged to be out late at night 
and to go to all kinds of places ; but Charley saw 
that he assisted at Mass regularly and received 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


207 


the Sacraments every month, so no real harm 
came to the boy. 

Charley no longer swept the market. He 
had been promoted to be assistant to Mr. Kalb- 
fleisch. Mr. Kalbfleisch was making money. 
Having saved a good round sum, he invested it 
in a large drove of Western cattle. He managed 
to sell the cattle at a large profit. He found only 
one fault with Charley, who was beginning to be- 
come as plump and rosy as a young butcher should 
be. Mr. Kalbfieisch said he was too religious. 

Ach ! he said. Der knabe is an old man. 
He goes to church every Sunday ; he keeps me 
waiting for him on his holy-days, when he goes 
to his Mass. He will change. They all do. Re- 
ligion is good only for old women.’’ 

One day, in the middle of winter, Mr. Kalb- 
fleisch was in a very good humor. He intended 
to go that night to the ball of the Germania 
Butchers’ Association, and he was full of antici- 
pation. All his brother butchers, with their 
wives and daughters, would be there. Besides, 
he had sold two big droves of cattle, at a large 
profit, for three thousand dollars. 

It was Saturday, and a busy day. About 
dusk, customers became fewer. A tramp lounged 
up to the stand, and Mr. Kalbfieisch pulled out a 
roll of bills and threw him a dollar note, calling 


208 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


him several bad names as he did so. The tramp 
— a battered, dissipated-looking man — looked at 
the roll of notes with greedy eyes. 

‘‘ Don’t you wish you had these ? ” asked the 
jolly butcher, on whom all things seemed to smile 
just then. 

Indeed I do ! ” said the tramp. 

Mr. Kalbfleisch, having had no time to go to 
the bank during the day, locked his money in a 
little tin box and put it in the closet of his stall. 
Charley did not approve of this. It was unsafe, 
he said. 

Mr. Kalbfleisch laughed. 

Dry up, old man ! ” he said. “ You’d better 
come to the ball.” 

But Charley said no. He intended to go with 
Willie to confession, over at St. Peter’s. 

Mr. Kalbfleisch went off*, in high good humor. 
The tramp came into the market as soon as he and 
Charley had disappeared, and sat on the meat- 
block for a while, whistling. A policeman passed 
and spoke to him. Then he crouched down be- 
hind the meat-block. When the policeman passed 
again, he thought that the tramp had gone away. 

Soon the first tramp, who whistled at inter- 
vals, was joined by another tramp. 

Willie went home, after confession. He had 
to report for duty at nine o’clock, and he wanted 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


209 


to rest awhile. Charley, feeling vaguely uneasy 
— for he had the key of the closet in the stall — 
strolled down to the market 

There was no moon. The market looked 
like a dark cave. There was no sound, except 
the gentle ripple of the river and the distant 
shrieks of fog-whistles. 

Charley thought he heard a whisper. He 
paused behind Mrs. Jameson’s stall. 

Can’t do it without a chisel. Your pen- 
knife’s no good, Sam.” 

“ What’s to be done ? ” said another whisper. 

There was silence. Then a sound of scraping. 

“ Can’t open the lock, Sam.” 

S’pose we go and try to buy a chisel from 
the lodging-house man.” 

There was a slight rustle, and two men softly 
crawled out of the market into the street, and 
straightened themselves up in the shadow of the 
sheds. One stood at the corner to watch. The 
other ran away. 

Charley knew what it meant. He said to 
himself that he would lose time in going for a 
policeman. He did not know where to find one. 

He went up to the stall, hastily unlocked it, 
and took out the tin box. He fancied that the 
man at the corner was watching him. There 
were several other sums of money in the drawer. 


210 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Charley crept with the tin box to a large rat-hole 
in the side of the wharf. He thrust the box into 
the hole with some effort. Then he went back 
to the stall for the packages of small change and 
the receipts of the day. 

He put his hand into the drawer of the closet 
and gathered the money together. There was 
more there than one hand could grasp. 

He had turned to move away when a hard 
blow struck him on the shoulder and a lighted 
match was flashed in his face. 

‘‘ Is it a cop ? ’’ whispered a voice. 

‘‘ Ko/’ was the answer. ‘‘ It’s the young one. 
And the monej^’s gone ! ” 

The second speaker opened a dark-lantern, 
and, in the light, Charley recognized the tramp 
to whom Mr. Ealbfleisch had given the dollar. 

Charley pushed the rolls of money into his 
pocket. The new-comers seized him by his 
shoulders ; one of them put a hard hand on his 
mouth. 

Now, young fellow, we’ll search you — No, 
it’s not here, Sam. There’s a good deal in this 
pocket, but there’s more in the tin box, I heard 
’em talk about. Where’s the tin box, young 
fellow?” 

The hand was drawn away from his mouth, 
to give him a chance to answer. The man ad- 
dressed as Sam held a pistol against his head* 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


211 


You know what you’ll get, if you hollow.” 

Charley did not speak. He had resolved to 
die rather than to betray his trust. 

Where is it ? I’ll pull the trigger ! One ! ” 

Charley did not speak. 

‘‘ Two ! ” 

Charley began an act of — 

‘‘ Three ! ” 

Just then the sound of a policeman’s club 
struck upon the sidewalk reached their ears. 

Take that, you cub ! ” cried Sam. “And 
that!” 

He struck Charley three heavy blows with 
the butt of his pistol on the head. 

Charley felt the hot blood gush into his eyes. 
A sudden pain shot through the top of his head. 
Then there followed a strange, horrible dream, 
and then nothing at all. 


IV. 


ON THE WHARF. 

The news of the robbery reached Mr. Kalb- 
fleisch just as he was stepping out to head the 
grand march, at the ball, to the music of “ Die 
Wacht am Rhein.” 


212 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


*When lie was told of it, he rushed down to 
the market. Two policemen were guarding the 
spot. Mr. Kalbfleiscli behaved as if he were 
mad. He looked at the empty closet and 
moaned. 

‘^All gone ! ” he said. ‘‘All gone ! Verloren 
ist verloren, Ack Himmel ! ” 

He was in despair. Mr. Kalhfleisch felt that, 
his money gone, there was nothing worth living 
for. And it was all gone ! 

He listened to what people said, but he paid 
no attention to it. His hard savings were gone ! 

He would never get them back again, he was 
sure. 

Mr. Ealbfleisch had no religion, and in this 
loss there was no consolation. He had never been 
a miser ; he had always been generous when he 
had money ; but he felt that, without money, he 
could not live. He did not believe that the de- 
tectives could get his money for him again. 

After his statement had been taken by the 
magistrate, Mr. Ealbfleisch, his fine clothes all 
disheveled, wandered down to the river again. 

What was the use of living? he said to him- 
self. It was very well for Catholics, like Charley, 
to talk of religion; but he did not see anything 
left for him on earth, when his money was gone. 
He looked at the river, took off his coat and 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


213 


diamond pin and laid them on the wharf. He 
paused a moment, and hastily writing on a card 
very unsteadily in the dark these words^^^For 
Charles O’Meara,” he stuck the pin into the card, 
and put both into the pocket of the coat. 

Fear seized him then. If what the Catholics 
said were true, he was about to cast himself into 
hell. And at that moment he felt it must be true. 
But he could not live without his money. He 
made a spring forward and reached the edge of 
the wharf. 


V. 

where’s CHARLEY? 

Mr. Kalbfleisch felt there was no hope for 
him in Heaven or earth. He had loved money 
above all things, and the object of his love had 
disappeared. 

He had, out of good nature, helped the 
O’Meara boys and given donations to the Little 
Sisters of the Poor. These were the only good 
deeds he had done. But the Little Sisters had 
prayed for him, and he was to be rewarded for 
his kindness to the O’Mearas. In another mo- 
ment, he would have taken the plunge into the 


214 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


dark waters of the river. In another moment, 
he would have cut himself off forever from God. 

He felt his arm grasped. He turned and 
saw dimly through his blood-shot eyes Willie 
O’Meara. 

What are you going to do ? ” asked Willie, 
breathlessly, for he had been running. He had 
just been sent out with a message to a steamer 
which lay in the bay, and as he jumped out of 
the boat and ran along the wharves, he saw Mr. 
Kalbfleisch. 

It’s none of your business,” said Mr. Kalb- 
fleisch, trying to shake him off. ‘‘ Let me go ! ” 

‘‘ I won’t ! ” said Willie, holding on to the 
butcher’s thick arm with both hands. ‘^You 
mean to kill yourself, sir ! There’s a policeman 
under that gaslight in the slip. I’ve only to call 
out, and he’ll nab you. You know what that 
means ? Under the new law, here in New York, 
they put anybody in jail that tries to kill him- 
self. Come along ! ” 

Willie was very nervous ; but he tried hard 
not to show it. 

Mr. Kalbfleisch hesitated. He was more 
afraid of jail than he was of the dark waters 
before him. 

Let me go ! ” he said. I’ve nothing left 
in the world. My money is gone — lost — stolen ! ’ 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


215 


‘‘ Is that all ? ’’ said Willie. You can make 
more. I’ll help you — Charley will help. Don’t 
leave us, Mr. Kalbfleisch ; we haven’t any father 
now.” 

Mr. Kalbfleisch covered his face with his 
hands and groaned. Willie gently forced on his 
coat and vest. 

‘‘ Come home.” 

Mr. Kalbfleisch shuddered. 

The policeman approached them and looked 
at them curiously. Mr. Kalbfleisch rose and let 
Willie lead him homeward. 

Once there, Willie bustled around, made 
some strong coffee, and by dint of talking in- 
cessantly and promising that the New York 
detectives would certainly find the thieves, he 
at last succeeded in getting Mr. Kalbfieisch to 
bed. 

So soon as the butcher began to snore, he 
went to his own room, pocketing with much 
content the key of Mr. Kalbfieisch’s room. 

He knelt down and thanked God and his 
Blessed Mother for permitting him to do the 
service he had done for Mr. Kalbfleisch. 

But where was Charley ? Willie realized 
all at once that his brother was not in bed. It 
was plain, too, that he had not been in bed. 
Where was he ? 


216 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Charley seldom went out at night — and he 
was never out so late as this. Where was he? 
Willie knit his brows and wondered. 


YL 

A NEW FRIEND. 

Charley lay in Chambers St. Hospital, uncon- 
scious. The occasional moan only gave evidence 
that he was alive. lie had been taken there in 
the ambulance, as soon as the policeman had found 
him in the market. The doctors were very kind. 
His clothes were searched, but all they found was 
an envelope addressed to Charles O’Meara, a ro- 
sary, and a little money. 

Early in the morning, when Willie was 
searching for him, and he was still unconscious, 
two men visited the hospital. One was a detec- 
tive, the other a tall, stout, good-natured-looking 
man with an Irish accent. 

He examined the occupants of the different 
beds. Just as he approached Charley’s, the boy 
opened his eyes. 

The man looked at him, and then turned 
hastily to the nurse. 

I would have sworn,” he said, “ that this 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


217 


was the face of a dear old friend. But he’s only 
a boy. Those eyes ! They are like O’Meara’s/’ 
That’s the toy’s name,” said the nurse, 
referring to a slip of paper in her hand. 

The visitor looked at Charley again. 

^‘It must be,” he murmured. ‘^Nobody 
could deceive me in the face of an old friend. 
Will he live?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the nurse. “He is only 
stunned. We’d send him home, but we don’t 
know where to send him. I’ll ask him now 
where he lives.” 

It was in vain. Charley could not speak, 
although his lips moved. 

“ I say,” said the visitor, after a moment’s 
thought. I’ll take him to my hotel. I haven’t 
any child of my own, and, if this is O’Meara’s 
boy, I ought to take care of him. Can he be 
moved ? ” 

One of the doctors was consulted. He said 
yes. The visitor left his card — 

MR. C. DAWSON, 

Westminster Hotel, 

A cab was called. Charley was dressed and 
put into it. But all the time he did not speak. 

“ W e’ll go to the newspaper office another 
time, Mr. Osborne,” Charley’s new friend said 


218 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


to the detective. I’d like to see the Herald 
presses at work to-night, but just now I’d rather 
look after this boy. Tell the hospital people 
that I’ll be glad to see the boy’s friends when 
they come. Poor fellow ! He’s had a hard 
blow.” 

Charley, seemingly unaware of what was 
going on, leaned back in the cab. 

Once at the hotel, Mr. Dawson put Charley 
into a large and comfortable room and went for 
a doctor. He came, shook his head, and pre- 
scribed. 

On the next daj^, Charley was better, but 
he could not speak; he smiled in answer to Mr. 
Dawson’s questions, and tried to answer them, 
but he could not. He was too weak to hold a 
pen. 

The doctor said that perhaps if he were 
taken out into the country, a purer air might 
help to build him up. The boy had suffered no 
permanent injury, he said ; he was only shocked 
and weak. 

Mr. Dawson was impulsive. He had no 
doubt that it was his friend’s son he had found 
while seeing the sights of Hew York, which — 
among the poor and the vicious — are terrible 
sights. Mr. Dawson, having adopted Charley 
oa the impulse of the moment, was exceedingly 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


219 


interested in the boy. Unlike most impulsive 
people, he was constant to his fancies. 

Idl take him to the Eiordans,” he said. 

In two hours after he had made this resolu- 
tion, he and Charley, in a luxurious palace car, 
were rushing towards the pretty cottage on the 
Hudson, where the Eiordans lived. 

The Riordan family consisted of the father, 
mother, Agnes and little Clara. Mr. Dawson had 
known the father and mother in Ireland before 
he became rich in California, and, as they had 
been kind to him, he remembered it. He had 
built this cottage for them, on condition that he 
should have a room in it as long as he lived. 

It was built in what the architects call the 
Queen Anne style. It was large, yet cosy ; warm 
in winter, cool in summer. A small farm sur- 
rounded it. Just beyond, between two hills, 
where the turquoise blue of the Hudson shone, 
was a Catholic church and school. Painted on 
a tile in the front of the house was a picture of 
the Sacred Heart. Peace reigned within. Each 
day the Riordans wondered why God bad, in his 
goodness, seen fit to make them so happy. 

Mr. Dawson had telegraphed to Mrs. Riordan. 
The room was ready, and, as Mr. Dawson opened 
the door, with Charley leaning on his arm, a 
pleasant sight met his eyes. In the ruddy glare 


220 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


of the grate-fire sat Agnes and Clara. Agnes 
held a toasting fork in her hand, and the toast 
difi’used an appetizing smell through the room. 
Pussy and Clara looked on. The light falling 
on the intent faces of the children brought out 
the golden tint of their hair, and deepened the 
shadows around them. 

Well, pets!’’ 

The children and pussy jumped up. The 
children were kissed by Mr. Dawson, who also 
smoothed pussy’s back. 

Charley was then introduced. Clara stared 
at him with wide-open eyes. Agnes gave him 
the hand that did not hold the toasting-fork. 
A big chair was wheeled up to the fire, and 
Charley sank into it with a sigh of weariness. 

Mrs. liiordan, a woman with a sweet face 
and a neat white cap on her head, such as she 
had always worn at home in Ireland, entered, 
bringing tea on a tray. Agnes, in a very neat 
and careful way, buttered the toast. Mrs. Riordan 
then brought out some raspberry jam from a little 
cupboard, a round table was drawn up to the fire, 
and, Mr. Riordan having come in and said grace, 
they had tea in the twilight. 

I want you to make this boy talk,” Mr. 
Dawson said, laughing. They all laughed, too ; 
and Charley even smiled. 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


221 


Mrs. Eiordan, who made it a rule always to 
have something pleasant to tell at the tea-table, 
told them that a little boy with a crutch had 
brought her a bunch of late flowers and then 
sung a little song. He said his mother was a 
widow, and that he sold flowers and sung to help 
her along. He lived in Hew York, but came into 
the country every day for flowers. Mrs. Riordan 
said that she was so pleased with the boy’s polite 
manner, that she had given him half a dollar and 
all the dahlias in the garden. He had sung his 
song over again, and Agnes had learned to play 
it on her violin. 

After tea, Agnes took her violin from its 
nail, and, holding it upside down after the manner 
of the little Italian boys, played and sang — 

“Flowers are sweetest 

Plucked in the morning, 

Rarest and sweetest, 

Plucked Jin the morning.” 

“No, no,” said Mrs. Riordan. “You did 
not catch it, Agnes. I’ll sing it with you—” 

“Sweetest are flowers 

Plucked in the morning, 

Sweetest are hours 
When dew’s adorning 
Each leaf and spray, — 

Give them to Heaven, 

First of the day, — 


222 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


Give them to Heaven, 

Kneel down and pray! 

Kneel down and pray, 

Give them to Heaven, 

Kneel down and pray. 

Short are the hours. 

While we are working. 

They fade like flowers ; 

Then, no work shirking. 

All through the day. 

Do what we can, 

Kot sad, tearful. 

Wronging no man. 

Hopeful, cheerful. 

Kot sad, tearful. 

Wronging no man. 

Hopeful, cheerful.’^ 

“ Pretty and well sung,” said Mr. Dawson. 

I wish Willie were here ! ” 

Charley had spoken ! Everybody uttered 
delighted exclamations. 

Charley had been interested in the little 
song ; the peace and contentment around him, 
to which he was unussd in the crowded tene- 
ment house in which he lived, had made him feel 
happy. From the bottom of his heart he had 
sighed, ‘‘ If only Willie were here ! ’’ 

Then Charley told the Riordans and Mr. 
Dawson his simple story. When he had finished, 
Mr. Dawson kissed him on the forehead. 


MR. KALBFLEISCF. 


223 


“ You shall be my son now, Charley, for the 
sake of your dear father, whose footsteps you 
have followed ! ’’ 


VII. 

THE TIN BOX. 

When Willie, after three miserable days, 
during which Mr. Kalbfleisch had forgotten his 
great loss for an hour or two in the sorrow of 
his little friend, got Mr. Dawson’s letter, he was 
almost mad with joy. There was a postscript to 
it, which made him turn with a radiant face to 
Mr. Kalbfleisch, who was in the room with him. 
Will you wait here for a minute ? ” 

Yah,” said Mr. Kalbfleisch. ‘‘ Is Charley 
found ? Wait ! Yah ! I wait ? What good am 
I now, except to wait ? ” 

Willie ran down to the market. It was 
Saturday. To everybody’s surprise Willie went 
down on his hands and knees, and, his heart 
almost standing still with fear that he might 
not And it, thrust his hand into the rat-hole in 
the dock for the tin box. It was there. 

He ran home, as he said himself, ‘‘ like a 
streak of lightning.” 


224 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


Mr. Kalbfleisch/’ he cried, “ what would 
you do if I told you Charley had saved your 
money.” 

Mr. Kalbfleisch groaned. 

‘‘ Come now ! — What would you do ? ” 

Don’t make fun. Ach, Himmel, I am sick 
at heart ! ” 

“ What would you do ? ” 

“ Willie,” said Mr. Kalbfleisch, solemnly, 
‘‘I would believe that there is a God who 
listens to the prayers of you Catholics and the 
Little Sisters. Yes, I would ! ” 

“ Here it is ! ” 

Mr. Kalbfleisch opened the tin-box and 
counted the money in silence. Then he dropped 
it on the floor and cried like a child. 

Willie,” he said. ‘‘ I will do whatever 
you say with that money. You have taught me 
that friendship and your religion are better to 
live for than money.” , 

‘‘ But there can be no true friendship without 
religion. Father always said so.” 

So ? ” said Mr. Kalbfleisch. x 
He was very thoughtful. 

How well you boys have paid me ! ” he 
said, when Willie had read Mr. Dawson’s very 
full letter to him. 


MR. KALBFLEISCH. 


225 


VIII. 


THE REWARD, 


Mr. Dawson built another cottage near the 
Riordan’s. There he, Charley and Willie live. 
Next year Charley will enter the seminary at 
Troy. 

Willie declares that he will always stay v/ith 
Mr. Riordan, and help Mr. Kalbfleisch to manage 
the big stock-farm Mr. Riordan has bought. 

The last time I saw Mr. Kalbfleisch, he was 
carrying, with Mr. Dawson, Mr. Riordan, and 
Willie the canopy held over the Blessed Sacra- 
ment in the Corpus Christi procession. 

Truly, God had amply repaid him for his 
kindness to two orphan boys. 



A GUARD OF HONOR. 


W HAT a queer little fellow Claus was ! 

He bad a round, fat face, and rosy 
cheeks of a color you never see in America. 
Perhaps you would have called him a stupid little 
fellow, if you had known him. He could say his 
prayers well and serve Mass, and read a little and 
recite ‘‘The Erl-king.” He was never tired of 
hearing stories. Sometimes dear old Father Jas- 
per, the parish priest, came to visit his mother. 
Then Claus was happy. Father Jasper would 
walk along the village street, speaking to every- 
body, young and old, but saying much more to the 
little children who ran after him, and out of every 
house to meet him. How happy Claus was, when 
the kind old priest let him kiss his hand and asked 
him how he was getting on with his catechism. 
Ah! those days! It was a fine sight to see the 
kind priest taking his evening walk among his 
people, loving them and beloved by them ! 

On the great feasts of the Church, Father Jasper 
would sometimes ask Claus and his sister, Agatha, 
up to his house. That was a red-letter day. He 
226 


A GUAKD OF HONOK. 


227 


told them many stories — stories of Barbarossa, of 
St. Elizabeth, of the great saints and of old wars, 
of the Crusades, and he let Claus look at an old 
missal he had, full of bright colored and gold-orna- 
mented pictures of heroes and saints. 

Claus had a special devotion to the Blessed 
Sacrament. When Father Jasper told of the 
Holy Grail and of all the noble old legends, Claus 
would cry out : 

‘‘I want to grow up and be a knight of the 
Blessed Sacrament ! ” 

Father Jasper would pat the boy’s flaxen head 
and say : 

‘‘Wait, Claus, you will have many opportunities 
of fighting for our dear Lord, but not with the 
sword. If you go away across the sea, or your 
brothers and uncles leave you, and” — he added 
witli a sigh — “ as so many of my people have gone, 
you will often have to defend the Blessed Sacra- 
ment, for the greater number of the people over 
there do not believe that Our Lord is with us in the 
tabernacle.” 

Father Jasper often said this, but Claus and 
Agatha could scarcely believe that there were 
people in this world who did not adore the Blessed 
Sacrament. 

‘^And,” asked Claus in wonder, “are there also 
little children there who never make their First 
Communion?” 


228 


STOEIES OF DUTY. 


‘‘Yes, — unhappily, yes.” 

Agatha told the other children of this dreadful 
thing, and for a long time afterwards Father Jasper 
was asked by many little village children to tell 
them about it. They could not believe, for they 
had been taught to look on their First Communion 
as the crowning act of their lives. 

Suddenly the Rhine rose one night, and kept ris- 
ing till death and desolation faced the village. The 
beautiful river became all of a sudden wild with 
rage. The villagers knew what was coming, and 
they fled to higher ground. 

It was a sad sight. Cheerful homes were sud- 
denly dismantled. The comfortable hearth was 
made cold and wet by the rushing waters. In all 
directions people might be seen running, carrying 
children, clothes, or furniture. There was much 
grief and loud lamentations. 

Father Jasper had been obliged to go far across 
the country to visit a dying man on the night be- 
fore the great flood. The storm arose and he could 
not get back the next day. No one dared to lend 
him a boat; he w^ould have started alone down tlr^ 
river to his beloved people, if he had had one. 

There had been great confusion on the high 
ground all day, and so many children were absent 
from their parents, that Claus was not missed. His 
father thought that he w^as safe with some of the 
neighbors. 


A GUARD OF HONOR. 


229 


The church was the onl}^ building not yet buried 
out of sight by the flood. The waters were gain- 
ing rapidly, and the villagers thought in sorrow of 
tiie beautiful stations of the cross and the exquisite 
decorations. But nobody on the high ground re- 
membered that only Father Jasper had the key of 
the tabernacle. Claus, however, had thought of 
it. 

‘^Surely,” he said to himselfV^ somebody ought 
to wait in the church until Father Jasper comes to 
take our dear Lord away. It is not right that He 
Who loves us so much should be left all alone.’’ 

When the water had risen above the doorsteps 
nearest the church, Claus crept into the church, and 
nestled close up to the railing of the sanctuary. It 
was growing dark, but a glow of rich crimson fell 
on him from the mantle of a martyr in the stained- 
glass window. St. Gertrude smiled on him, and the 
dear St. Nicholas raised his hands as if blessing him. 

Claus felt happy. He heard the rush of waters 
outside. Distant shouts and cries told him that the 
river was rising higher, and the sounds of crashing 
walls and falling timber, as the water undermined 
foundations and swept away buildings, resounded 
like thunder through the church. The red lamp 
burned peacefully before the Blessed Sacrament, 
and little Claus, bathed in the fading crimson light, 
felt no less peaceful. The water rippled over the 
floor of the church. Claus crept within the sane- 


230 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


tuary rail. It did not occur to him that it would be 
well to seek safety with his father, mother, and 
Agatha on the high ground. He thanked the dear 
Lord that they were safe. As for him, — he must 
stay until Father Jasper came. 

The noise without became more turbulent. The 
high doors of the church had been burst open by 
rushing timber, and Claus could see before him 
a long waste of twilight water and the twinkling of 
far-away lights, like a starry crown on the horizon. 

It never entered Claus’s mind that he would die 
there at the foot of the altar. In fact, he did not 
think at all of what might happen. He was there, 
and it was his duty to stay there. How could he 
leave the Blessed Sacrament alone ? Such a thought 
— the thought of deserting his post did not occur to 
him. 

As the darkness grew, the waters grew and 
swelled. They were washing angrily against the 
fourth step of the pulpit stair, and Claus was now 
on the highest altar-step. The crimson flush had 
died away in darkness. 

Why did not Father Jasper come ? Claus won- 
dered whether he could be sick. Soon the waters 
would put out the red light if he did not come, — 
but “no,” Claus said to himself confldently , — ^^that 
would not happen. The angels would light it 
themselves, if it were possible for such a thing to 
take place.” 


A GUARD OF HONOR. 


231 


The noises of the flood were made to appear 
louder as other sounds grew stiller with advancing 
night. Claus’s love and the red light still burned 
peacefully. Claus drew out his rosary, and began 
his prayer. Why was he alone ? Why did they 
all leave the dear Lord in the darkness? Why?— 
but with treacherous and slow motion the waves 
washed through the nave ; the little flaxen head 
sank against the gold and white corner of the altar. 
The gold cherub with upraised hands looked down 
at the prostrate figure of the little boy. The water 
moved with the tide; all was silent except its 
swish-swash over the marble floor and against the 
walls. All was darkness below the spot where the 
red light burned. 

* * * * 

Father Jasper had come down to his people, in 
spite of the flood, — or, rather, borne on its bosom 
in a steam-yacht owned by an English traveller, 
who saw his sorrow and offered to take him. It 
was nine o’clock in the evening when he reached 
the place where his flock had found shelter. He 
found great grief then ; and Claus’s parents were 
more sorrowful than all the rest, for Claus was miss- 
ing. Father Jasper gave them such consolation as 
he could. The flood had begun to subside some 
hours previously, and he hoped that the boy might 
have been carried off to another village by some 
kindly friend. He was taken by the Englishman 


232 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


to the church. The water was going down. He 
waded up the nave to the high-altar. He thanked 
God that the red light still burned. He mounted 
the altar-steps, and opened the tabernacle. He 
turned away with the Blessed Sacrament safe in his 
consecrated hands. 

He had lit the big Paschal candle, for there was 
no other light to be had. Its soft radiance fell on 
the dazzling gold of the cherub at the corner of the 
altar, and on something under it. Father Jasper 
saw in the dim, mellow light the face of Claus. He 
uttered an exclamation. 

Was the boy dead ? 

^‘Father Jasper,’’ cried Claus, opening his eyes, 

oh, I have waited for you so long. I was afraid 
Our Lord would be lonely.” 

“And so you formed yourself into a guard of 
honor for His protection,” said the priest. “ Be sure 
He will not forget it, my child ; and as you have 
watched over Him, so may He watch over you.” 


THE DUMB SINGER 


P eople who saw Httle Philip often wondered 
what pleasure he could find in life. He lived 
on the top fioor of a crowded boarding-house in 
New York. He went to work in the morning at seven 
o’clock, and did not come back to the house until 
after six. Then he was pale and tired. He took his 
seat at the long dinner-table, and, while the guests 
around him talked of politics or the latest sensation 
of the daily journals, little Philip did not even pre- 
tend to listen. He ate silently and then disappeared. 
He was about nineteen years old, slight, short, and 
with drooping shoulders. He had a long, white, 
care-worn face. When his eyes were cast down he 
looked ugly and uninteresting ; for he had white 
eyelashes, which helped to give his face the appear- 
ance of being all one color. But when he looked 
at you you could see that his eyes were the color 
of violets, with a deeper and softer tint in them 
than any violet. 

The landlady called him little Philip. She said 
he had come to her house from the West, recom- 
mended by an old friend, and that, though he had 
grown somewhat in three years, she had become used 
to that name. He was an orphan and had no rela- 
tions. He was very shy ; he answered no or yes, 
233 


234 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


when people spoke to him. He seemed to shrink 
from those who spoke to him ; he made no effort to 
make friends. Sometimes he came to the table with 
a flower in his button-holejwhich he invariably pulled 
out and hid in his cuff when anybody noticed it, or 
he thought anybody was noticing it. The lady 
who sat next to him had been kind to him when he 
was sick once ; he had thanked her in a few low 
words. One day he came in with an unusually large 
brown and gold pansy. She was in a gayer mood 
than was her wont, and she asked him for it. He 
fumbled at the flower as if hesitating, and then 
managed awkwardly to drop it into her soup. He 
jumped up from the table and disappeared. Every- 
body wondered what such an uninteresting, stupid, 
sullen being found to live for. 

Little Philip was really as unknown to the forty 
people in the same house as himself as if he were 
a thousand miles away. In reality, there was the 
thinnest possible barrier between the heart of this 
human being and the best of the people around him. 
Some of them were versed in the ways of the world 
and knew how to be amiable and attractive to it ; 
but they did not dream of wasting these qualities on 
the stoop-shouldered, downcast creature they saw 
every day. They touched the surface and found it 
rough. That was sufficient. He was ugly, that was 
evident ; he was silent, and they thought he was 
stupid and sulky. It was generally understood that 


THE DUMB SINGER 


235 


he was too callous even to like music, for he never 
went into the parlor when the boarders sang the 
popular melodies of the day, accompanied by the 
notes of a weary-toned piano. 

Once he was seen standing at the head of the 
stairs, while a visitor played the prayer from Ros- 
sini’s “Moses in Egypt.” The landlady, who was 
going upstairs, noticed that his eyes were very 
bright and large, and that his hand trembled. 

“Why, little Philip.” she said, “what’s the matter?” 

“ Nothing,” he answ^ered, drawing the white 
lashes over those violet eyes. 

“ I was a fool to have asked him,” muttered the 
landlady. “ What a queer boy ! But he actually 
looked like a saint in one of the Catholic pictures.” 

After this Philip’s door w^as always ajar. But 
nobody played the prayer from “ Moses ” again. 
The people in the parlor preferred gayer music. 

There was a young man wdio went to the table 
and who sat near Philip. He was a bright, hand- 
some, pleasant- voiced fellow. He talked a great 
deal. He had once spoken to Philip and received 
a timid No ; he made up his mind that Philip was 
proud and disagreeable. His name was Neal. The 
boarders discussed everything, and sometimes they 
argued about religion. One of them said something 
foolish about the Catholic Church. Neal laughed a 
little, and lightly answered him ; but, growing enthu- 
siastic, made a good defence of the Church he loved. 


236 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


After dinner, he found Philip waiting at the door 
for him. Philip tapped him on the shoulder. 

I would like to go to your church with you,” 
Philip said. 

‘‘You are very condescending,” answered the 
young man irritably, for he had lost his temper over 
the seeming impossibility of making the boarders 
understand him, and he gave way to a desire — 
although his conscience smote him — to return the 
dislike which he thought Philip had for him. 
“ You can go yourself if you want to.” 

Philip made no answer ; he stumbled over the 
young man’s feet in turning to go upstairs, and the 
young man thought that he had never met a more 
disagreeable person. He said to himself that 
Philip’s request was only one way of being satirical ; 
but he was not sure of this, and the more his con- 
science whispered that he ought to have been more 
charitable, the more angry he became with Philip. 
Finally, he forgot all about it, except that he had a 
vague increase of dislike for Philip, and he did not 
hesitate to say one or two unkind things at him. 

Young Neal discovered, however, that Philip had 
found a Catholic church, for he saw him, in his 
threadbare suit, standing behind the last pew at 
High Mass on Sunday. He first thought of asking 
him into his pew, but he resisted the impulse, as he 
drew ofiE his lavender-colored kid gloves, and spread 
a silk handkerchief under his knees on the bencli. 


THE DUMB SINGER. 


237 


Perhaps Philip’s threadbare clothes had something 
to do with this. 

“ He has come here only to mock and criticise, 
anyhow,” Neal said to himself, by way of apology. 

I’ll not notice him.” 

The landlady remarked that little Philip went out 
more than usual ; and, after a month or so, he let 
himself out of the house at five o’clock in the morn- 
ing, and came back in about an hour. Tlie landlady 
said to herself that he seemed happier, and once she 
heard him trying to sing some Latin words to him- 
self in his room ; but the boarder next door knocked 
and jocularly asked him if he were trying to saw 
wood. “ He was queer and no mistake ; ” he did 
not try to sing again. 

During the winter, he went out very early, and 
came back for his breakfast about six o’clock every 
morning. He took his frugal luncheon with him 
then, and went to work. It was remarked by the 
boarders that his teeth chattered unpleasantly, and 
that he had no overcoat. 

Young Neal, who went to early Mass one week- 
day — the anniversary of his mother’s death, — met 
Philip coming out of church. He was surprised 
and somewhat softened. He remarked that it was 
a cold day. 

Philip flushed and turned silently away. He 
thought that Neal’s glance had rested on his worn 
clothes, and that his expression had been a satirical 


238 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


allusion to the fact that he had no overcoat. Then 
he felt he had given way to resentment. He ran 
after Neal and tapped him on the arm. 

‘‘ Well ? ” Neal said. 

Philip’s lips moved. 

‘‘Well?” 

“ It is a cold day, Mr. Neal.” 

“ It will be a cold day when you learn manners,” 
Neal said, boiling with indignation at what seemed 
to be an impertinence. 

Philip stood and watched him as he turned the 
corner, as if he were stunned by Neal’s rough reply. 

Neal’s remarks at the dinner-table became more 
satirical than ever; but Philip seemed not to notice 
them. The landlady, going through the attic 
corridor one night, after Neal had been more 
than usually severe on “ stupid, insolent people,” 
thought she heard a sob in the cough that troubled 
Philip at this time. She said again that he was 
“queer” and would never make a friend, and 
went on to get out some more blankets, for January 
had come. 

Young Neal went to see Father Cramer, the rec- 
tor of St. Mary’s, on Sunday, the sixteenth of Jan- 
uary. He was much interested in the St. Vincent 
de Paul Society, and he wanted to see the priest 
about a knotty point that had come up at the last 
meeting of his conference. 

Father Cramer shook hands with him, but stopped 


THE DUMB SINGER. 


239 


him in the hall. The priest’s kind eyes and grave 
smile always made Neal feel wdiat he called ‘‘ good.” 

There’s somebody in the parlor ; and I don’t 
want to go to my room until my patient wakes up. 
— Yes, I’ve a patient up there, and I’m afraid he is 
dying. He is a strange boy, — sit down here awhile, 
— he came here suddenly one night in a frightened 
sort of a way, and asked to be instructed. It took 
some time to break the ice that seemed to have 
coated him all over ; he gave me the impression of 
being dumb, though he had the use of his tongue.” 

“ There’s a fellow at my boarding-house just like 
that,” said Neal, with a laugh. “ And a nasty, 
mean little chap he is.” 

“ Don’t be too hard on him,” said the priest. “ If 
you break the ice, you may find pure, limpid water 
under it, as I did. Well, this boy, or young man, — I 
don’t know which to call him, — became a most ex- 
emplary Catholic. He had lacked friends, though 
he had longed for them fervently, but his inability 
to express himself, and his awkw^ardness, turned 
everybody from him. He wanted to please people, 
but he always failed. He found all he wanted at 
the foot of the altar. All the ardor of his heart 
turned to the Blessed Sacrament. Such love, such 
faith! But he wanted to express it somehow. 

‘‘ Do you know Rossini’s ‘ Moses in Egypt.’ No ? 
Well, I think it a rather theatrical piece. He heard 
it sung in the choir. ‘ I can’t sing,’ he said, ‘ but if I 


240 


STOEIES OF DUTY. 


could only play that, I would feel as if I were not 
so tongue-tied, when I am alone and want to pray. 
Ah, if I could only play that ! It expresses what 
I cannot say ! ’ He was in earnest, there was no 
mistaking that ; so I told him to come here, and that 
I would teach him a little to play that old organ in 
my room. It was slow work. He thought it bored 
me ; but he loved the toil of practice. He has act- 
ually been going all this winter without an overcoat, 
— for he works for a mere pittance, — to hire a small 
organ for himself.” 

“ Sentimental ! ” 

The priest paused. ‘‘Don’t take that tone, Neal. 
Don’t let us sneer when we can help it. His prog- 
ress has been very slow, and he has been much 
troubled by a cough. This morning, after Mass, — 
he went to Communion, — he fainted, and we took 
him up to my room. — ” 

A soft, solemn sound filled the house, — a sweet, 
pleading sound, almost human in its tone. It was a 
prayer in music, — such music as is seldom heard on 
earth. It was the prayer of Moses, as Kossini in 
some high, pure moment, away from all thoughts of 
the stage, may have conceived it. 

Father Cramer listened incredulously. “ That 
can’t be my old organ.” 

Neal was touched by something in the music. 
They went upstairs. 

The musician turned as they entered. His face. 


THE DUMB SINGER. 


241 


in which two violet eyes almost blazed, smiled at 
Father Cramer radiantly. 

“ I have found my voice, Father,” he whispered 
joyously, but hoarsely. ‘‘ I am no longer dumb. 
It says all I think.” 

The musician was little Philip. The priest ran 
forward, for Philip seemed weak and about to totter. 
He fell sideways on the keys of the organ, and a 
stream of bright blood flowed from his lips, coloring 
them. Neal caught him in his arms and carried him 
to the lounge. His wonderful eyes were fixed, 
glowing with love, on the crucifix above the organ. 
He made motions with his hands, as if touching 
organ keys. He sighed and closed his eyes. 

He has found his voice,” said Father Cramer, 
who knew death well. ‘‘ He has found more than 
all he lacked on earth.” 

‘‘ I might have been a friend to him,” murmured 
Neal as he lifted Philip’s hand tremblingly, and 
crossed it with the other on the dumb singer’s breast. 

He needed friends,” said the priest ; ‘‘ his heart 
almost broke because he was so greatly disliked. 
But we are not friendly to talk when we ought to 
pray for him.” 

And then Neal joined with all his heart in the 
prayer of the Church, that he, who so longed to express 
himself, might be joyfully expressive before God and 
the glorious assemblage that praises Him eternally. 


THE PEEFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 


M ISS GAEDINEE’S two sisters had married 
Catholics, Dermot Eiordan and Eichard 
Hackett, and they had adopted the Faith of 
their husbands. Miss Gardiner had disapproved of 
this at first; but when she found that her sisters were 
no less sisterly and that their husbands were honest 
and honorable men, she ceased to regret the mar- 
riages. She was a quiet young woman when they 
married, possessed of a fair income and a number 
of prejudices which were only to be removed by 
actual experience that they were prejudices, and 
not principles. She read much and she fancied 
that she was an impartial observer. Her sisters, 
who had both become enthusiastic converts, plied 
her with books, from Milner’s End of Controversy 
to the Faith of Our Fathers, She had a great 
respect for the Catholic Church, but she had formed 
the opinion that a ‘‘ broad ” Christianity was enough. 
She was opposed to the Catholic idea of religious 
education. It was her opinion that the world had 
grown so much better and kindlier since dogmas 
had ceased to hold its people, that orthodox religion 
was really not at all necessary. 

Her nephew, Carroll Eiordan, often said that 
this belief was easy enough for a woman who had 
242 


THE PEBFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 243 


merely to draw her income every quarter. If she 
had to struggle with the world, things would no 
doubt assume a very different aspect. At any rate, 
it was Miss Gardiner’s impression that Catholics, in 
practical life, were no better than other people. 
And she said many times that a religion which 
made such claims ought to produce better results in 
every-day life. She never took the trouble to in- 
quire into the workings of the magnificent works of 
Catholic charity in New York; she expected her 
servants — she would employ none but Catholics 
who attended to their duties — to be models of good 
temper. “ Sarah,” she would say, ^‘1 know 1 lose 
my temper sometimes, but then I am not expected 
to be good all the time. But it is different with 
you ; you’re a Catholic and your Church ought to 
keep you straight.” There was no replying to this. 
As to honesty, Miss Gardiner believed that most 
people were honest, but at the same time she took 
good care to see that her bolts and bars were 
staunch. 

The two sisters died young. Carroll Eiordan was 
her favorite nephew. His father went to Cuba, to 
look after certain sugar interests, and remained 
there, leaving Carroll, a lad of eighteen, in the care 
of his aunt. Her other nephew, whose father had 
died, was at a preparatory school under the charge 
of a community of priests. Here Carroll had like- 
wise been until Miss Gardiner sent for him. She did 


244 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


not like Cyril Hackett; he was not handsome; he 
was blunt in speech ; he had light eyebrows and 
blue eyes, — she detested both, — and he never said 
a polite thing merely for the sake of politeness. 

Carroll, on the other hand, was tall and elegant, 
olive-complexioned and dark-eyed. Both he and 
Cyril were well-instructed in their religion. In 
addition to his other good qualities, Carroll was 
clever and showed it. Cyril was clever, but, as a 
rule, he did not show it. 

Miss Gardiner, who was growing richer year by 
year, came to the conclusion that she would bear the 
expense of her nephews’ college course. She did 
this partly out of good-nature, partly from a desire 
to make an experiment which she felt sure would 
prove her theory that a ‘‘broad” education pro- 
duced just as good results as the religious kind. 
She could not send Cyril to a “ broad ” college ; she 
had promised his parents to the contrary. 

Carroll’s father was dazzled by the prospect of 
having his son’s name enrolled on the list of a col- 
lege noted for its age and for the standing of its 
faculty, and notorious for the wild and barbarous 
conduct of some of its students. 

Miss Gardiner smiled at the faint objection of 
Carroll’s father that he might lose his Faith. What 
if he did ? she said to herself. He would mingle 
with the world at Warward College and gain great 
culture. Mr. Eiordan’s conscience troubled him a 


THE PERFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 245 


little. But, after all, he said to himself, that he 
had been sent to a National School in Ireland and 
not lost Ms faith. Miss Gardiner had her way. 
Carroll went to Warward College and Cyril to the 
Jesuits, — Miss Gardiner paying with great satisfac- 
tion for both. 

‘‘The Jesuits will have the worst of it,’^ she said, 
for Cyril is as obstinate and hot-tempered as he is 
ugly, while Carroll is as amiable as he is handsome.” 

She made no secret of the fact that she had made 
Carroll her heir, while Cyril was to have five hun- 
dred dollars a year for life. 

***** 

As the years went on. Miss Gardiner grew richer, 
through lucky investments. She bought a place at 
Newport and presented Carroll to society during 
the vacations. Cyril was with her, too, during 
these times of rest, but he was always in the back- 
ground. He knew that he must work for a living; 
and he kept hard at his books. Sometimes he was 
tempted to envy, sometimes to anger; it was hard 
that all the roses of life should be for his cousin 
and none for him. Cyril had inherited a hot temper 
from his father ; he was obstinate, and, worst fault 
of all, naturally inclined to be envious. 

If Miss Gardiner — now become a gentle-looking, 
graceful old lady — wanted an attendant, she asked 
for Carroll. He might be seen every day sitting op- 
posite to her in her victoria, admired and willing to 


248 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


be admired, dressed in the latest fashion ; and he 
was a prominent object in all the important enter- 
tainments. Cyril was entirely neglected. He had 
his breakfast alone, he dined alone w^henever there 
w^as a dinner party, for his aunt said that he “ did 
not know how to wear an evening coat.’’ 

Of course Cyril Hackett resented this. He was 
often tempted to envy and anger — two passions to 
which he seemed particularly open. He had inher- 
ited this susceptibility from his father ; but he had 
learned, too, that his father had overcome one of the 
most diabolical tempers that ever cursed a man by 
the means of grace which the Church freely offers 
to her children ; consequently, Cyril did not at- 
tempt to excuse himself for indulging in his pre- 
dominant passions because he had inherited them. 
He fought, he struggled, he fell, he rose again, and 
the good Jesuit, his confessor, knew best how hard 
his life was. 

Miss Gardiner watched her two nephews closely. 
She saw the flash in Cyril’s eye and the curl of his 
lip when Carroll was lavishly praised or pointedly 
favored, and in her heart she said that her scheme 
had succeeded ; it corroborated her belief in the 
uselessness of religious education. Certainly Car- 
roll was a very charming person. He w^as always 
amiable, always willing to amuse or be amused. 
His aunt had given him an ample allowance ; but 
she had refused to increase it, although Carroll in* 


THE PERFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 247 


sinuated several times that he would find it very 
agreeable if she would do so. 

One afternoon towards the end of the summer, 
Carroll found Cyril under a rock near the ocean, 
reading. 

‘‘ We haven’t seen much of each other this year,” 
Carroll said, and we used to be such good friends.” 

It hasn’t been my fault,” answered Cyril ; 
“ you’ve been too much engaged with other people,” 
he added, with some bitterness in his tone. 

I couldn’t help it,” Carroll said, with a laugh. 
“ I really couldn’t, — people like me and I am fond 
of society ; besides, my aunt insists that I must be 
with her a great deal.” 

You must be very happy,” said Cyril, saying 
a prayer and striving to suppress the temptation. 
“ Life is very bright for yon.” 

Carroll Hiordan shook his head and drew figures 
in the sand with his cane. 

“ No, Cyril,” he said, “ I am very miserable. If 
it were not for your narrow life in that Jesuit Col- 
lege, — which I never could stand, — I should almost 
envy you.” 

“ Why should you be miserable ? ” asked Cyril ; 
“you have friends, prospects, — your father is liv- 
ing, my aunt loves you as if you were her son — ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Carrall, impatiently, “ I know 
all that.” 

There was silence. The waves continued to 


248 


STOEIES OF DUTY. 


come in with a force that boded a storm, and their 
spray almost touched the feet of the two young 
men. Cyril’s white flannel shirt and soft slouch 
hat were very much of a contrast to his cousin’s 
correct attire. From the glossy silk hat to the 
brilliant patent-leather shoes Carroll Riordan w^as 
what Shakespeare calls point device in his ac- 
coutrements.” His nails were delicately pink and 
carefully cut, his slight mustache was trimmed 
fashionably, and he wore a bunch of carnations in 
his button-hole. Cyril, looking at him, felt half 
admiration, half contempt. Suddenly a most de- 
lightful perfume filled the air, overcoming the 
smell of the salt and seaweed. 

What is that ? ” asked Cyril. Was there ever 
such a delicious odor? Does it come from the 
flowers in your button-hole?” 

‘‘From carnations?” laughed Carroll. ‘‘How 
ignorant you are! One might as well expect to 
get wine from turnips as the scent of the Cuban 
lotus from carnations.” And Carroll fluttered his 
handkerchief in his gloved hands. “ Cordovas, 
who left to-day, had just a few drops of this per- 
fume left in a little glass vial. He dropped it on 
my handkerchief at parting and threw the bottle 
into the sea. Everybody is wild over new perfumes 
just now, and it will make a great sensation to- 
night at my aunt’s dinner-party, if I can only keep 


THE PEEFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 249 


the scent from going off entirely.” He thrust the 
handkerchief into his pocket. 

It is very strong,” said Cyril ; “ I have never 
taken any interest in the present passion for scents, 
but it is certainly most delicious.” 

‘‘ I suppose they don’t encourage aesthetic tastes 
of that kind at your college,” said Carroll, with a 
half sneer. 

“ They don’t encourage us to be dudes,” said 
Cyril, hotly. 

Carroll shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You should see some of the men’s rooms at 
Warward, — rugs, antique lamps, perfumes burning 
in censers, statuettes, — all kinds of beautiful things 
are in them. In fact, as our Professor of Art says, 
— ‘ beauty is religion,’ — and it’s about the only re- 
ligion I believe in.” 

Cyril raised his face, with a shocked look on it; 
he came out from under the rock and stood beside 
his cousin. 

You don’t mean to say that you are not a Catho- 
lic any more ! ” 

Carroll’s eyes fell before the earnestness of the 
other ; he recovered himself quickly. 

‘‘What’s the use? People don’t trouble them- 
selves about old-fashioned religious forms any 
more — ” 

“You mean your people at Warward,” inter- 
rupted Cyril, shrugging his shoulders ; “ people who 


250 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


believe that science can work miracles and that God 
cannot! I am not good, — though God knows I 
want to be! — but I would rather die this moment 
than honestly admit what you have admitted.” 

I haven’t been at Mass for a year,” said Carroll, 
flippantly ; “in fact, I’ve taken so little care of my 
Faith that I am afraid I have lost it altogether, — 
and yet I fancy I’m just as well-conducted as you 
are, Cyril, and as virtuous.” 

The rustling of a gown was heard, and Miss Gar- 
diner came from behind the rock. She wore a 
white-brimmed hat, carried a lace-draped parasol, 
and a large pocket-book. 

“ I agree with you there, Carroll,” she said, with 
a grave and reproachful look at Cyril. “ I just hap- 
pened to hear your last words and I quite agree 
with you. In spite of all Cyril’s high Christian 
education, he is frequently envious of you. I have 
read that many times in his eyes when you have 
been praised.” 

Cyril turned his face away from her, and asked 
for strength to control his anger. 

“ Is this not true? ” Miss Gardiner asked. 

Cyril made no reply. 

“ Sulky, as usual,” said his aunt ; “ for Heaven’s 
sake, control your temper and talk less about your 
Faith!” 

Carroll good-naturedly floated his handkerchief 


THE PERFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 251 


in front of the old lady. Her attention was diverted 
at once. 

“ Where did you get that perfume,” she said, 
taking the handkerchief ; ‘‘ it is rare, it is exquisite ! 
You will give me some, of course, — new and rare 
perfumes are all the fashion.” 

wish I could give you some, aunt,” said Car- 
roll ; “but young Cordovas gave me the last drop 
he had, and then he left for New York. It is the 
scent of the Cuban lotus, — a magnificent pink 
flower, they say.” 

“ Too bad, — too bad ! I wish I could have had 
some,” said Miss Gardiner, smelling the perfume 
and giving the handkerchief back to her nephew. 
'‘Oh, dear, isn’t it hot?” she broke off. “ I toiled 
up to the bank only to find it closed. My attorney 
paid me a thousand dollars in one hundred-dollar 
notes this morning, and I wanted to deposit the 
money, — but it’s a legal holiday or something, — it’s 
quite too vexatious, — that’s all I know ! Now I’ll 
have to keep it in my desk all night, and run the 
risk of finding it gone in the morning.” 

The old lady passed on, with a smile for Carroll 
and rather a grim look for her other nephew. 

“Ah, that perfume!” she said. “It is very 
delicious, — I shall always associate it with yon, 
Carroll.” 

“ I am sorry Cordovas is gone, — he’s a jolly fel- 
low, and fond of fun, like all the Cubans ; he is in 


252 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


my set at Warward, — but I’ve got to pay him five 
hundred dollars next week,” said Carroll, as his 
aunt disappeared. 

Five hundred dollars!” cried Cyril, aghast; 
‘‘five hundred dollars! ” 

‘‘ A man must have a game of cards occasionally 
at college,” said Carroll, ‘‘and I lost the cash. 
What are you staring at ? ” 

Do they let you gamble at Warward ? ” 

“Let us!” cried Carroll, impatiently ; “who is 
going to prevent it? But I know that my aunt 
would never forgive me if she thought I played 
cards. It’s the one thing she made me promise not 
to do. I’d give half my life for that thousand dol- 
lars she is hoarding away; for if I don’t pay him 
next week he’ll apply to her and raise an awful row.*' 
“ I thought you said he was your friend.” 

“ No, I didn’t, — I only said he is a jolly fellow, 
and of course he has to pay the five hundred dollars 
to other people. If my aunt finds this thing out, I 
om done for, — she always keeps her word. You’ll 
be the favorite, then,” Carroll said with rather a 
hollow laugh. 

Cyril could give him no consolation ; he knew 
from experience that his aunt always did keep her 
word ; she prided herself on it. 

“It is awful!” Cyril said, much alarmed. At 
the same time a thrill of delight ran through his 
mind, — Carroll would be abased ; his aunt would 


THE PERFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 253 


see that the paragon was not perfection ! He 
crushed tlie thouglit with all his will. “ I wish 1 
could help you,” he said, ‘‘but I have just ten 
dollars in the world.” 

“ Do you know,” Carroll said, as thej^ strolled up 
to the house, “ that if I can’t pay Cordovas I think 
ni kill myself. What are you staring at now? It’s 
the only way out, — two students at Warward com- 
mitted suicide last session.” 

“You are a fool!” exclaimed Cyril, losing his 
temper. “ I beg pardon, cousin,” he added, “ but 
you are ! ” 

There was a gleam in Carroll’s eye, as he looked 
back longingly at the sea, that frightened Cyril. 
He went up to his room, sad at heart, all his envy 
and bitterness gone. He knelt before his picture 
of Our Lady of Good Counsel in supplication for 
his cousin and in penitence for himself. He asked 
that the example of the Man of Sorrows might 
guide and strengthen him. 

Miss Gardiner’s guests left early that night, and 
she called her nephews into the drawing-room to 
show them a new picture she had bought. Her 
study was at the back of this drawing-room, shut 
off from it by curtains. Carroll was in the study 
when he was called ; Cyril, in his room. 

After they had looked at the picture, — the study 
of a sunset at sea, — Carroll went to his room. 

“ Oh, by the way, Cyril,” Miss Gardiner said, 


254 


STORIES OF DUTY. 


sinkiDg into a low chair, ‘‘I believe I left the key 
in my little desk in the study. Go and get it for 
me, — arn tired, — but before you lock the desk, 
see that the money is safe.” 

Cyril went into the study. A very graceful little 
desk of the Louis Seize period, painted with gar- 
lands of roses, stood in one corner under a drop- 
light. The key was in the lock ; Cyril raised the 
lid ; the desk was empty ; there was no money there ! 
He looked and looked again. He could hear Miss 
Gardiner, in the drawing-room, humming an old 
song to herself. He turned cold and hot. A white 
handkerchief was all the interior of tlie desk con- 
tained. He became sick at heart as he recognized 
the perfume of the Cuban lotus; the handkerchief, 
which had evidently caught in the lid, was Carroll’s. 
There was no initial on it ; no other sign of owner- 
ship ; but there was the fatal scent of the Cuban 
lotus, streaming richly from it. 

Here was Cyril’s chance to drag down the curled 
darling from his place. Left to his own natural 
impulses, he would have done so; and the tempta- 
tion was strong upon him. But his education had 
been, since his earliest infancy, against the indulg- 
ence of bad natural impulses. He took the hand- 
kerchief, — with a prayer in his heart and Miss Gar- 
diner’s plaintive song sounding in his ears, — up to 
Carroll’s room. He entered it, a slight knock barely 
warning Carroll that he was coming. Carroll, who 


THE PERFUME OF THE CUBAN LOTUS. 255 


was standing at the window, turned ; his cheeks 
were flushed and his eyes glittered. 

“ You took my aunt’s money,” Cyril said, throw- 
ing the handkerchief on the bed; ‘^give it to me; 
she has asked for it, — give it to me, and I will re- 
turn it before she discovers the loss. Do not hesi- 
tate. I know it was you ! ” 

Carroll glanced at the handkerchief, and defiance 
faded from his eyes. He drew his aunt’s pocket- 
book from the breast of his coat and handed it to 
his cousin. 

You will not ruin me ?” he said, piteously. 
Cyril snatched the pocket-book and dashed down- 
stairs. He could replace it in an instant. But he 
was too late. Miss Gardiner had become impatient 
and gone herself to the desk. She turned, her face 
as white as death, as Cyril entered the room. 

‘‘ So you are a thief, sir,” she said, with a sneer. 
“ Give me that pocket-book ! I knew you were 
evil-minded, but I never dreamed you would steal ! ” 
Carroll, in the door-way behind Cyril, heard these 
words, and a great weight lifted from his heart. 

For heaven’s sake,” he whispered to Cyril, “ let 
her think it was you ; you have nothing to lose ! ” 
No, Cyril said bitterly to himself, he had nothing 
to lose. He had no father to suffer from his dis- 
grace ; his aunt could not have a lower opinion of 
him than she had already ; he would at once crush 
out all the envy in his nature by making this great 


256 


STOKIES OF DUTY. 


sacrifice ; he would be silent. In a second all this 
flashed through his mind. 

“ You are a thief ! ’’ cried Miss Gardiner, shrilly. 
“ Think of it, Carroll, your cousin is a thief ! ’’ 
Carroll did not speak. 

Suddenly Miss Gardiner bent her head under the 
upraised lid of the desk, — the rich perfume of the 
Cuban lotus was still there. She had said that 
‘^she would always associate it with Carroll.’’ She 
looked at the faces of the two young men with a 
keen glance ; the truth dawned upon her ; her 
intuition was not at fault. 

There was a pause ; Miss Gardiner suffered terri- 
bly for a moment, and Cyril suffered with her. 

God help me!” she said, covering her face 
with her hands. “ Go, Carroll Riordan, go I — and 
yet I have made you what you are ! ” 

***** 

Miss Gardiner has been a changed woman since 
the failure of her experiment ; she listens humbly 
to the religious instructions which Cyril Hackett — 
now a Jesuit scholastic — gives her. Carroll Rior- 
dan is in Cuba, an utterly spoiled and reckless 
pleasure-seeker, without hope and almost without 
Faith, — the despair of his father’s life. 


PRINTED BY BKNZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORR. 











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